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VANITY FAIR SERIES, No. 2. PEICE 25 CENTS, 

^ Marchi, 18 Q 1 . ^ I 

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j ISSUED MONTHLY. Subscription Price, $2.00 Per Year. 

HER FIRST j 
ADVENTURE 

by 

EGBERT G. ROE f 

AUTHOR OF MISS MYSTIC OF HARLEM ; A PROFESSIONAL \ 
SECRET; A COUNTRY COUSIN. ETC. 








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A METAPHYSICAL NARRATIVE 


BY / 

• \/ 

Egbert (5. IRoe 

Author of Miss Mystic of Harlem; A Professional Secret; A 
Country Cousin, Etc. 



NEW YORK 
EDWARD BRANDUS & CO, 
30 Broad Street 





Copyright, 1891, by 
EDWARD BRANDUS & CO. 
Ail Rzj^hts R.-served 


THE E. B. SHELDON CO. 
ELECTROTVPERS & PRINTERS 
NEW HAVEN, CONN. 


PREFACE. 


From the Buffalo News. 

The whereabouts of the young and beautiful daughter of the 
millionaire lumber merchant at Black Rock, whose disappearance 
under somewhat peculiar circumstances was referred to in these 
columns some days ago, have, it has been ascertained, been dis- 
covered and the discovery in question only serves to heighten 
the mystery in an already decidedly mysterious case. The young 
lady, it is asserted on good authority, has been traced to a cot- 
tage in the outskirts of the city where she is living as the wife of 
one John Woolson, a hunchback, until recently employed as 
night clerk in Kemble’s drug store. Whatever can have led this 
young woman of beauty, wealth and social position to such a step 
is more than a mystery to all her friends, especially as the hunch- 
back bridegroom is of almost repulsive personality. The father 
of the girl is beside himself with rage and grief and is said to 
have determined to discard her. 

“ Is not this an extraordinary case ? ” I asked, 

turning to my friend, the eminent Dr. T , 

and handing him the paper. 

He read the item slowly. 

“ Strange, yes, ” he answered, handing me 
back the paper ; “ but the case is by no means an 
isolated one.'’ 

“ Do you mean to say that you have ever come 
across such an instance before .? ” I exclaimed. 


iv 


Preface, 


Most assuredly I have. Why, my dear fel- 
low, old-time fable and modern story alike 
furnish instances of the beautiful, the sweet and 
the good succumbing beneath the influence of 
some wondrous, mystical, uncanny spell to beings 
their moral and physical opposites. In legendary 
story have we not the chronicle of the barbaric 
ruler’s mate, who stole away from the splendors 
of the royal banquetinghall and the side of her 
imperial lover to seek the rude hovel and de- 
based companionship of a hideous, repulsive serf ? ” 

“ But how do you account for anything of the 
kind ? " 

“ Account for it ! Well, in these later years 
it has come to be more than half conceded that 
there exists a certain subtle power, a certain mys- 
terious force which science has as yet been able 
to only very indefinitely define and determine, 
and which power it is possible for some beings to 
exert over others. Science, justly conservative, 
wisely cautious, has been slow to concede the ex- 
istence of this mystic power, but is fast being 
forced to the admission under the overwhelming 
pressure of a grim line of facts. Who shall tell 
how great an influence this as yet uncompre- 
hended force has exerted and continues daily to 
exert over human lives ? ” 

Can it be possible that any such occult forces 
have sway in these matter-of-fact days? ” I invol- 
untarily exclaimed. 


Preface. v 

The doctor pointed to the paper still lying 
across my knee. 

“ You have the answer to that question there," 
he replied. 

There was a moment’s silence between us, and 
then the doctor again spoke. 

“You asked me just now," he said, in a low 
and somewhat unsteady voice, “ if I had ever 
known of a similar instance. I have, and it was 
indeed a most striking one. Come to my house 
this evening and you shall hear about it." 

In accordance with the appointment thus made 
I called upon my friend, and in the form of a copi- 
ous bundle of notes, duly authenticated in vari- 
ous important particulars, I came into possession 
of the facts upon which I have based this stoiy 
of “ Her First Adventure." 

As I was about to leave that night, the doctor 
stopped me on the threshold. 

“ I wish to say one thing more to you," he 
said, impressively. “ I wish to bear testimony 
to one conviction — a conviction that grows 
stronger in me with the passage of time, and which 
I know I shall carry down with me unshaken to 
the grave. It is this : That in physical beauty and 
sweetness of soul, I shall never find one who will 
surpass her whom I have referred to in these 
notes as — Margaret Beale." 

My friend, the eminent scientist, turned from 
me almost abruptly ; not so quickly, though, 



that I failed to detect a certain moisture in his 
eyes* 

Was there yet something- more to this story 
than he had told me — something in which his 
personal emotions played^ or once had played, a 
part ? 

Who knows? 


The Author. 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE, 


CHAPTER I. 

THE^PROFANING TOUCH. 

“ How would you do it ? " 

“ By the power of love I ” 

What, yoiL f ” 

As she spoke the girl looked down pityingly 
upon the strange human deformity at her side. 
He had fastened his eyes upon her neck and 
shoulders, bared for evening fashion. He was 
repulsive to her. 

“ Well ! if not by love — then because I will it.” 

“ You would hypnotize her ? ” she asked scorn- 
fully. 

“ Women obey me always ! ” 

They were standing at the extreme end of a 
fashionable salon, frequented by artists, actors, 
poets and the shifting and shiftless personalities of 
metropolitan Bohemia. The rooms were Qro-wded 
and according to a custom of these weekly gather- 
ings, people spoke to each other as they happened 
to rub shoulders in the crowd. 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


The young girl laughed nervously at what she 
believed the mock earnestness of his tone until 
she glanced down again and saw somewhere 
about the level of her waist, a head, so close to 
her that it threatened to canopy its ugliness in 
the draperies of her gown. Instinctively her 
propriety was shocked by this threatened con- 
tact with such a human head. Her hand fell to 
her side, to protect the soft mousseline ; a delicate, 
frail shield. In doing so her fing^s inadvertently 
brushed against this head, and the bushy hair 
seemed to coil and twine clingingly about them, 
causing her nerves to tremble as under the in- 
fluence of a magnetic touch. 

She started to withdraw, when her^Jiand was 
seized ; lips were pressed against the soft, white 
skin. She tried to drag her hand away, but 
strength was denied her. Her arm seemed 
numb, powerless. 

The lips, not satisfied, crept to her wrist and 
then her arm. 

She looked around her beseechingly, a little 
helplessly, but the people had their backs to her. 
They were listening to a famous violinist, who, to 
the accompaniment of a piano, was teaching his 
instrument to pray as no human heart has ever 
done jn^ the “Ave Maria.” Anticipating the 
pleasures of this musical treat, she had chosen 
an obscure corner so that the semi-gloom might 
assist her reveries ; so that the figures of fashion 


THE PROFANING TOUCH. 


3 

about her would be mere shadows of a world she 
might forget, to follow this musical prayer. 

She realized that the creature at her side had 
foreseen this advantage and he could easily hide 
behind the full draperies of her skirt should 
anyone turn suddenly upon them. 

Her mental purity, until that minute unques- 
tioned, wavered in the scales that weigh woman’s 
future. The balance of the body and the soul. 

Which would outweigh the other? The 
Body or the Soul ? 

Ave Maria — Ave Maria gracia plena^ sang 
the violin and without temptation, she would 
have followed the prayer. It would have made 
her stronger in her recollections of the con- 
vent school which the chant suggested, brought 
stronger to her the spirit of the Holy Mother. 

At that moment, however, prayer became a 
mere idolatry. The senses were her God. 

From Paganism came Christianity. In the 
flesh was born the soul. 

She rebelled against the man ! She was 
devoured by his caress. 

“Ohl How dare you!” she gasps, while 
the last notes of the Ave Maria die away and 
she leans exhausted, languid, her eyes half-closed, 
against the wall. 

The applause was earnest and prolonged. 
Every one present had yielded to the enchant- 
ment of the music, and she, who among them 


4 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


all loved music better than anything else in the 
world had forgotten it in the presence of a pagan 
idol, a deformed, hideous cripple. 

Taking advantage of the noise he looked up 
at her with a dangerous, wicked sparkle in his 
dark brown eyes and said as he released her 
hand — 

“You see I have magnetic power! ” 

“I hate you — go away from me,” she mur- 
mured and fascinated still beyond her power by 
the strange evil gleam in his dark eyes she stared 
at him — while he smiled with cynical indifference 
and moved away from her across the room. 

“ Robert,” a voice calls him, just as he gets 
beyond her hearing. 

He turned and hobbled back to greet his 
friend. 

“ Is that you, Hunter? ” 

“ I have a letter for you, from a woman, I 
think ; don’t be afraid. I have not recognized 
the handwriting.” 

“ No ? lam surprised at that. I am glad that 
there is one not known to you. I hope she is to 
me, also. Some one who has not dined and 
wined us, or to whom we have not extended 
equal gratification in the last month ! Fact is. 
Hunter, if we can’t find some new people to 
enjoy our dinners with, I shall give up eating.” 

Hunter looked at his friend gravely a moment, 
then said : 


THE PROFANING TOUCH. 


5 


“ I believe it is impossible for you to enjoy a 
dinner, unless a pretty woman is smiling at you 
between mouthfuls.” 

“ I own the charm of their companionship im*^ 
proves terrapin immensely. I have a supreme 
contempt for the man who sits day after day in 
the front room of Delmonico’s and eats alone. 
He is either a gourmand or — ” 

“ Or what ? ” asked Hunter. 

“ Or married,” replied the cynic. 

Robert Van Keever with a semi-leap, cat-like 
in motion, awkward in pose, got into the depths 
of a huge cushioned chair, and opened the letter. 
He looked at the signature. 

“ It is from a woman, but a stupid one. She 
is a prude,” he said, and a pause followed during 
which Hunter waited to hear the contents of the 
letter. 

“Ah! it concerns you. Hunter. It is from 
Miss Atwood, and she has found the only woman 
to play ‘ Princess Zelda’ in your new drama.” 

Hunter took the letter as Van Keever handed 
it to him and the latter continued. 

“ Clever, that Atwood girl. It must be a diffi- 
cult thing to* find a woman who can interpret 
tragedy properly. They’re all soubrettes by 
nature in New York.” 

“ Awfully good of you to interest yourself, 
Robert; you must have written her about it.” 

“Yes!. The performance is for charity. One 


6 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


has to do something in these matters, especially 
when it is under the auspices of such fashionable 
fads as Mrs. Courtlandt Van Roosevelte and 
Mrs. Beauchamp Thompson. Does she name 
the young actress ? " 

“Yes. Miss Margaret Beale." Van Keever’s 
eyes looked up keenly, suspiciously at Hunter. 

“ Do you know her? " asked the dramatist. 

“ I saw her to-night for the first time." 

“ Is she here ? " 

“ Yes ; the girl over yonder, talking to the big, 
blonde woman, Miss Tokis." 

“She looks very young!" remarked the dra- 
matist, gravely. 

“Buds bloom rapidly, sometimes,” replied 
Van Keever, slowly following unconsciously his 
own thoughts. 

“The letter states she has just arrived in New 
York from a year’s visit in Boston.” 

“ Fresh from an occult tuition," continued Van 
Keever, watching Margaret Beale with his eyes. 
“ Does she picture the part ? " 

“Perfectly. She is tall, lithe, supple. Her 
face is sad, her eyes dreamy, and then," contin- 
ued the dramatist, weighing his heroine critically, 
“there is a suggestion of uriawakened passion. 
The.slim waist, the insinuating curve of the hips, 
the smooth flesh tints of the neck, the 
sinuous grace of motion. She is like a swan 
taking her first dip in a new pond. See how she 


THE PROFANING TOUCH. J 

defies the admiration of the Cuban at her side. 
She is an exploiter, not a flirt.” 

And does your princess only exploit ? ” asked 
Van Keever. If that be the case, “your drama 
will be tame.” 

“ No ; I deal with a social crime! ” 

“ Marriage ? ” 

“ Yes ; without an altar.” 

“ You think that’s new ? ” 

“ Under the conditions of my play, I do ! ” 

“ What are the conditions.^ ” 

A union of the senses. A girl’s surrender to a 
magnetic spell — a battle between mind and mat- 
ter.” 

“ A love story, eh ? ” asked Van Keever indif- 
ferently. 

“ No. Virtue meets vice and against her will 
virtue yields — because vice is cunning and 
stronger in mind. He casts a spell about her, 
and tells her it is love.” 

“ She accepts the mask, eh ? ” 

“ In this respect, that she mistakes passion for 
love, dishonor for religion. She thinks it is a just 
and delicious fate.” 

Your Herve — Vice — is an old magician.'* 

“ In a new dress 1 ” 

“ Instead of a long beard and spangled gown ? ” 
“ Hypnotic malice I ” answered the dramatist, 
earnestly. 

“ Hypnotism — hypnotism,” cried Van Keever, 


8 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


while his eyes assumed a strange brilliancy. I 
think Miss Beale will make a success of Princess 
Zelda.” 

“As to that, who can tell. She lacks experi- 
ence and I understand has no past, no love affair 
from which to draw the sentiments of the play.” 

“ I think I can help you,” said Van Keever, 
clutching nervously at the playwright’s sleeve. 
“ I will test her for you here, to-night.” 

“ How?” 

“ / will hypnotize her.” 

“ If she will consent.” 

“ I have already asked her.” 

“ What did she say ? ” 

Van Keever slipped out of his chair, and ignor- 
ing Hunter’s question crossed the room. In a 
low voice he murmured to himself : 

She shall tell me if she has ever loved.” 


CHAPTER II. 

TESTING THE SPELL. 

“ Will no one consent to aid me in the experi- 
ment?” 

The lights had been lowered, and as Van 
Keever uttered these words his dwarf figure 
stepped to the centre of the grand salon, while 
all eyes were upon him. In stature he was little 


TESTING THE SPELL. 


9 


over four feet. The dim light cast shadows 
about him, but the deformed shoulders and the 
hunchback were the material shadows of a crip- 
ple. His chest was thrown up high, out of all 
human proportion; the throat was full and muscu- 
lar as that of a strong man. The legs were short 
and bowed, and the feet large, ungainly. The 
arms were long and powerful, the hands small, 
delicate almost as a woman’s. 

The face as a whole was any man’s ; it would 
have passed as an attractive one allied to a natural 
body, but set in such a crooked frame it was re- 
pulsive, with its deep wrinkles around the eyes 
and mouth. 

The low, broad forehead was lined with signs 
of premature age, or vice, and the hair carelessly 
worn, was thick and black and made the head 
seem too large for the body. 

It was a face calculated at first to repel, 
and yet again a certain determined force in 
the firm chin and square jaw might attract ; a 
face apart from the body, abo^/e it in intel- 
lectual force, yet vicious and sour in expression, 
perhaps at the forced penalty of an alliance with 
its earth-shape. 

The lips were thin, determined, and the eyes I 
ah ! therein lay the charm. 

Eyes such as some beautiful eastern woman 
might have had ; — splendid, brawn, changing 
eyes, with soft, fathomless depths, Their lashes 


10 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


grew long, as a child’s, and fell thickly, as though 
to hide the lines beneath, telling of the worn out 
love, exhausted passion, and the vice that make 
up a horrible routine in the life of a man who 
lives only for his senses. 

Yet Robert Van Keever had more in him than 
the ordinary voluptuary could boast. A spice of 
combativeness, and an intense will-power made 
him an intelligent, far-seeing man of business, 
whose brain had been the motive power of many 
a thriving enterprise, greatly to the surprise of 
his friends, who had prognosticated his failure in 
life. 

There was a story in his face. How easy to 
read these face-stories ; their lines are plain 
enough. Yet these men believe them hidden 
from all the world. 

Some minutes passed. The figure remained 
motionless. 

“ Have you any preference ? ” asked a sly 
young tenor, who leaned over a chair near 
where the hostess sat. 

‘‘ None ! ” answered the dwarf. 

His voice, usually high pitched, yet weak, now 
assumes a deep, harsh sound. He has fixed his 
eyes upon a statuette of Minerva placed in a 
corner at the extreme end of the salon. 

“Will you make her speak?” asks a lady near 
by, referring to the statue. 

“Yes — she shall speak.” 


TESTING THE SPELL. 


II 


He makes strange passes in the air with his 
hands, then stamping his foot, and bringing his 
fist forcibly down upon the table, he cries 
imperiously : 

“ Come here ! ” 

Slowly edging her way among the people, 
jostling them aside almost rudely in her anxiety 
to reach the centre of the ring, comes a beautiful 
young woman. 

There is a murmur of surprise and dissent as 
the girl stops at a motion of the dwarf’s hand, 
and with her eyes wide open looks into his un- 
ceasingly. 

“What a picture!” whispers Hunter to a 
woman seated next to him. “ I shall have to in- 
troduce a dwarf in Princess Zelda. ” 

“ Who is she ? ” murmurs another. 

“ She is a stranger at these receptions.” 

The dwarf hears the remark, and addressing 
the subject of his mesmerism, says to her: 

“You are a princess. What do you wish for 
above all things in the world ! ” 

The young girl sways a little, her face grows 
strangely pale. Leading her gently to a sofa, 
the dwarf motions her to rest upon it. No 
sooner is she seated, than her hand is extended 
as if some one had asked for it, while she says 
slowly : 

“ A true and honest lover.” 

Poor thing ! she must be very young,” whis- 


12 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


pers a fashionable butterfly who has been mar- 
ried twice. 

“Would you marry him?” asks the dwarf, 
unctiously. 

The girl makes no answer. Her head falls 
back upon the cushions, and her hands are 
clasped as if in prayer. 

“ He is here in these rooms to-night? ” contin- 
ues Van Keever, creeping close to the sofa, and 
fixing his eyes more steadily upon her. 

She bows her head. 

The dwarf glances around him with a certain 
defiance in his eyes, and raising his hand points 
with his finger at a certain well-known physician 
— Dr. Werner — in silence. 

The girl seizes Van Keever’s coat sleeve and 
tries to drag him toward her. 

“ What do you want ? ” asks the dwarf, roughly. 

She makes no answer, but raising herself grad- 
ually from the lounge, her arm creeps to the 
dwarf’s shoulder, then around his neck. 

“ I think the test is suflicient,” says Dr. Wer- 
ner, coming toward Van Keever. 

“ Can you control it ? ” 

There is a wicked smile upon the dwarf’s ugly 
face as he speaks. 

The physician walks over and whispers to the 
hostess ; several ladies leave the room. 

“ Come, Van Keever, you will betray yourself,” 
whispers Hunter. 


TESTING THE SPELL. 


13 


The dwarf suddenly realizes that the entertain- 
ment is not agreeable to his audience. He 
shakes the girl’s arm from his shoulder, and seiz- 
ing her hand, his lips close to hers, whispers the 
one question he has not dared to speak before 
them all : 

“ Whom do you love ? ” 

“You!” 

“ Have you ever loved before?” 

“ No , you are the first.” 

“ Mrs. Rousby requests that you do not pro- 
long the seance,” says Dr. Werner, sternly, 
his eyes fixed on the girl. 

“You know this young lady?” asks the dwarf. 

The physician does not answer. 

“Come, come,” cries Van Keever, in quick, 
sharp tones, at the same time snapping his fin- 
gers. The girl wakes as if from a long sleep. 

“ I am satisfied , she is now your charge,” and 
so saying the dwarf disappears into the ante-room 
and putting on his coat, hurries out. He enters 
his carriage at the door. 

“ Where to, sir? ” asks Johnson, his valet. 

“To Central Park ! ” 

The valet hesitates. It is a strange hour for a 
drive. 

“ Did you hear me 1 Leave the windows 
down ; I want the air. Drive on.” 


14 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FIRST VISIT. 

Margaret Beale was staying with her friend, 
Leda Atwood, in Fifty-Seventh Street. It had 
been against the latter’s advice that she had 
attended Mrs. Rousby’s reception. It was a 
place where one ran against queer people. The 
men were a fast lot ; the women all had a 
past. They were all unquestionably clever, 
liberal in their philosophies, and as a whole these 
receptions had become famous as the only rendez- 
vous in New York that approached the much 
talked of salons abroad. 

It was not the place for a young girl, however, 
to make her first social plunge. 

Mrs. Jack Rousby was a noted literary 
woman, with a generous hospitality and a knack 
for entertaining that had made her very popular. 
Her “punch ’’was delicious and not intoxicating. 

Men dropped in there on one evening each 
week at any time till two in the morning. 
Famous singers, actors, artists and poets made it a 
point to be presented to Mrs. Rousby, because 
her rooms were generally full of journalists. 

Margaret Beale had heard about her, and when 
Dr. Werner agreed under protest to show her this 
kingdom of Bohemia in New York, she went. 


THE FIRST VISIT. 1 5 

Some days had passed since the scene described 
in the last chapter. 

It was a cold, cheerless morning ; the rain beat 
angrily against the windows. 

Only vaguely could Margaret Beale recall the 
circumstances of Van Keever’s test. She felt 
that her nature had received a shock. She was 
unable to forget his face. She had not spoken of 
it afterwards ; neither had Dr. Werner mentioned 
it to her friends. 

Leda Atwood had been left in charge of the 
house, while her sister was enjoying the gayeties 
of Lenox. 

She was busy over a delicately bound note- 
book of household accounts, when the door of 
the bed-room opened slowly. 

“ May I come in, dear? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

Margaret Beale entered quietly and looked at 
the ruddy, welcoming fire. 

“ Do you know I've been here one week to- 
day ? ” she began. When she spoke there was 
an odd little hesitation in her speech, such as 
some children have. 

“ Eight days ago I left Boston. Oh, how 
nice it is to be here ! ” “ Leda, this room 

is lovely. You give a room your individuality 
before you’ve been in it an hour. T 
know you did when you visited us at my 
home.” 


l6 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

She stood before the open fire, and looked at 
the book in her friend’s hand. 

“Am I bothering you?” she asked. 

“No! I must get Jack to do this for me. 
What’s the use of a brother-in-law if not for just 
such unpleasant duties. They ought to expect 
it. Brothers do. I’ll ask Jack this evening, if he 
isn’t cross. I wish we could live without men.” 

“Well, I can for one,” Margaret said,, as she 
drew her soft, gray drapery about her and sat on 
a stool at her friend’s feet. 

She was not as tall as Miss Atwood, and not so 
independent in manner. Neither was she of so 
pronounced a type. 

Her hair was a soft, reddish-brown and her eyes 
were a gentle hazel shade that come with a pecu- 
liar transparent skin. 

Her friend at whose feet she sat was nearer 
thirty then twenty, and had known Margaret 
from her childhood. 

She looked at her now, with the color coming 
and going in her face, and sighing said; 

If I had the courage to go to bed before twelve 
o’clock I might have that pretty color in my 
cheeks that you have now. New York does do 
one up, there’s no doubt about it. 

“Then come on a visit to me,” cried Mar- 
garet eagerly. “We shall have such a nice 
time ; Mamma, Elsie, Aunt Maitland and you 
and 1 1 ” 


THE FIRST VISIT. 


17 

Miss Atwood looked at her friend doubtfully, 
“ Mamma, Elsie, Aunt Maitland and you and I’’ 
did not make up a summer for her any more 
than the proverbial swallow would have done. 

“You see,” she said, frankly, “in a few weeks 
more I shall be thirty, and I must begin to think 
seriously about my future. I am at an age when 
I can’t waste a summer. Really, now that I 
think of it, this summer will probably be the 
last grace given me by my friends. Yes ! I must 
decide on him very soon.” 

“ Oh ! Leda ! surely you wouldn’t pick him out 
as you would a gown, would you ?” 

“Why not? a woman never knows the man 
she’s marrying. All men are about the same. 
It’s all chance, with ten to one against your happi- 
ness.” 

“You speak as though you’d been fond of 
some one.” 

“ I don’t think I have ; you see I never was 
lucky with bachelors. Married men fly to me, 
as weary travellers to a green spot in the desert. 
A woman who says what she means is a refresh- 
ing oasis in the Sahara of non-commital women.” 

“ Leda, you don’t mean half you .say.” 

“ Oh ! but I do. Men like to marry women 
who say nothing but, ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘perhaps!’ 
‘ did you really do that ? ' ‘ Oh, how brave 

you were ! ” They revel in playing the hero 
before these simple women’s eyes; the same 


l8 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

eyes that see every inch of vantage ground 
they have gained. After marriage how a man 
does like to meet a woman he can talk to ! It’s 
such a relaxation ! Some women expand after 
matrimony, and venture an opinion once in a 
while, but the exception only proves the rule, 
you know.” 

“ Leda, you see as well as I do that our 
mothers are not like that: my mother has opin- 
ions of her own, and she is not afraid to express 
them either." 

“ After marriage. Oh, certainly not. The fact 
stares us in the face that there’s nothing a man 
likes so much as being fooled. I never knew one 
of these ‘ don't know ’ type of women, who 
didn’t know much more than her prayers. 
They’re always deep. I’ve tried men with this 
sweetness ; fed it to them by the spoonful, and 
they’ve jumped at the spoon and asked for more. 
It’s too much trouble as a rule, though. I only 
do it as a pastime.” 

Margaret rose and put her hands on her friend’s 
shoulders. 

“ Leda,” she said, “ I do believe you’re in love. 
I never heard a woman talk like that who was 
not.” 

“ U amor e I un pianto, dolce ed amara, A 
tragedy. But it is a grief to be blase and to lose 
the sweet and bitter pain of it.” 

“ Pain ? Ah, Leda, then you must have loved. 


THE FIRST VISIT. 


19 


some time or other, for we never know a pain ’till 
we feel it. I think I don’t want a sweetheart 
just yet — ” 

“Yet! and you twenty-one! and not even one 
little affair of the heart?” 

“ No ; my first adventure is yet to come. But 
I am content to wait. This is a big world. In 
the end, some one comes for each of us and then, 
— happiness ! ” “ Why, dear ! I hate to hear you 

speak so of love, because it is the only thing that 
raises people above their cares and troubles. It 
is — ” half whispering, “ sacred to me.” 

A day dream followed their thoughts — a hush 
fell over them. 

The rain had ceased. The sun poured down a 
benediction on the cloudy afternoon. A bird 
outside the window burst into a glad song — 
the song that seems to come from birds who 
feel ’tis good to live. 

A maid servant came in with two cards. She 
handed them to Miss Atwood : 


Mr. Archibald Hunter. 


Mr. Robert Van Keever. 


20 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

I HOPE I MAY NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN ! ” 

The maid went out of tlie room reluctantly, 
and left the door slightly ajar. Leda Atwood 
shut it with a decisive push. 

“ I don't wonder she wanted to hear what I 
should say, for oh, Margaret ! this Mr. Van 
Kecver who has come with Mr. Hunter is a — well 
he’s a revelation. Really I must tell you about 
him before you meet. I’ve seen him so often at 
the opera that I’ve quite got used to him. Be- 
sides, I’ve met him several times.” 

Margaret laughed nervously. Leda did not 
know that they had met. 

There was hardly time to explain now. 

“ In order to apppreciate him you must see 
him,” continued Leda, “ for I cannot do him 
justice in simple narrative. He’s a cripple. 
He’s rather a shock at first, but one gets used 
to him in time. Now come, dearie. No ! you 
shall not stop to primp ; you’re too pretty 
as it is. Mr. Hunter tells me that Mr. 
Van Keever has a penchant for pretty women. 
Funny, isn’t it? One would think he’d hate 
them.” 

Margaret Beale hesitated. 

His lips had left a scar from their burning con- 


'‘I HOPE I MAY NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN!” 21 

tact. Not visible, but she could remember the 
impression on her arm even now. 

“ I am not very well, Leda ; excuse me this 
time.” 

Leda Atwood seized her arm forcibly and the 
two women went down together arm in arm, like 
school-girls. 

At the foot of the stairs Margaret suddenly 
remembered that she had left a ring belonging to 
her mother lying upon a table upstairs and 
hurried back for it, le^iving Miss Atwood to re- 
ceive the guests. 

It was an odd superstition. She felt that the 
ring would be a talisman. She feared this man. 
The ring would keep her mother’s face before 
her. 

They were all three deep in the discussion of 
the forthcoming production of the “ Princess 
Zelda,” when Margaret came into the room. 
Turning quickly, she saw Van Keever in the cor- 
ner of the sofa. He wore a long, gray coat that 
looked glaringly white in the shaded parlor. 

She remembered then that they had never 
been formally introduced. They had talked and 
met, knowing each other’s names only. She de- 
termined to ignore him if possible. 

He fixed his eyes penetratingly upon her. 

“ Miss Beale, our ‘ Princess Zelda,’ Mr. Van 
Keever,” Leda said. 

Margaret bowed coldly, and turning her 


22 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


back on him, sank into the nearest chair. Her 
hands were icy cold, and so wet that in clasping 
her gown they left damp prints on it. A feeling 
of suffocation came over her: a low French win- 
dow was open ; she walked quickly to it, stepping 
out on its sill. Hunter followed her. 

“ I cannot sit in the room with him,” she 
whispered. “ He is repulsive to me.” 

“Who?” 

“He!” 

“ Van Keever? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Oh ! you won’t mind him after you talk with 
him a minute ! ” 

“ I can’t talk with him. Do you think he sees 
that I came out to avoid him ? ” 

“ Who, Robert ? ” with a laugh; “ not a bit of it. 
He would never think of anybody avoiding him. 
Why,” in a lower tone and looking into the 
room from the little balcony outside the window, 
“he’s chatting away quite pleasantly to Miss 
Atwood. Miss Beale, I wish you knew him 
better. He’s a splendid fellow.” 

Hunter’s full face and frank gray eyes grew 
animated. 

Miss Atwood interrupted them. She followed 
them to the window and pointing to a flower jar, 
said: “Look! I am very proud of this plant; 
it is a rare variety and has never blossomed till 
now. My sister, Mrs. Story, has had it for years, 


“ I HOPE I MAY NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN ! ” 23 

but it would not blossom. I adopted it about 
two months ago, and look at it now, full of 
beautiful, half-opened buds.” 

“ And your recipe for making plants bloom. 
Miss Atwood f ” Hunter asked. 

“ A plant that can blossom and won’t blossom 
must be made to — ” 

“ But how? — if your sister’s treatment failed.” 

“ I will explain. I never paid any attention 
to it — neglected it. Look at it now : it has 
budded in very spite. My sister had been killing 
it with kindness.” 

“That’s a way women have,” said Hunter, con- 
^fidentially. “ Plants are like women : to succeed 
with them one should be indifferent. That’s a 
theory I firmly believe in.” 

“Have you always succeeded?” Leda asked, 
with mock gravity. 

Hunter laughed, then stepping further out 
on the balcony, wiped his eye-glasses, and put- 
ting them on, glanced carel^sly at her. 

“Ask me that question another time. Let me 
first test my capacity for indifference fully.” 

“ One must have a capacity for indifference as 
well as for loving. To love well is a talent,” 
Van Keever said, as he bent forward to see 
Margaret, who had been standing in the shadow, 
making a faint pretence of listening to the 
usual badinage between Hunter and Miss At- 
wood. 


24 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ Miss Beale, may I see that wonderful 
flower ? ” 

At the sound of Van Keever’s voice and her 
own name, Margaret started, hesitated, and then 
carried the small colored jardiniere to his side. 
The buds of dark, silky red were beginning to 
burst into blossoms — blood colored, gorgeous, 
open-hearted things, breathing of Mexico, and 
hot, sandy plains. 

“Forgive me for letting you hold that jar; it is 
too heavy for you.” In taking it. Van Kee\;^r’s 
hand touched hers; as he placed the jar upon the 
ground their eyes met : in his, a half awakened 
interest ; in hers a look of repugnance. Any 
other man could have read her glance. To him 
it bore as little meaning as an Assyrian inscrip- 
tion. He did not understand the language in 
the story of her face. The gift of egotism that 
lies within the hearts of all deformed creatures 
was his, and added to it, the daring, the Ravage 
delight of the man whose will was domi- 
nant over others. Look which way she would, she 
felt his eyes fixed on her, and in them lay some 
spell to draw her mentally nearer and nearer to 
him, while the attraction repelled her, physically, 
more and more. 

“ \ hate you,” she whispered to herself. 

She answered his questions in monosyllables, as 
she remained seated motionless by his side. 

Finally, all pretence of talking ceased, and from 


'‘I HOPE I MAY NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN!” 2 $ 

the balcony they heard Leda telling Mr. Hunter 
about the account book she was keeping to show 
her sister. 

Her efforts at household management evidently 
amused Hunter, for he laughed, and then their 
voices outside were lost in a noise from the street. 

Margaret slipped a ring around on her finger — 
the ring she had put on a few moments before. 
In twisting it about her finger, it fell to the floor, 
on a rug in front of Van Keever. 

As he picked it up, he looked at it curiously : 

“ What an odd ring ! It looks as though it 
might have a history — a very old setting I see.” 

“ It is my mother's,” she said. The ring was a 
heavy band and had the word, “ Kismet,” studded 
deep in it, in turquoise. 

^ “ Fate ! ’ I am a great believer in fate,” he said, 
“ perhaps because fate has generally come my 
way. ‘ What is to be will be.’ Curiously enough, 
my greatest successes have not come through any 
efforts of mine ; they have come to me blindly. 
Of course ‘ Fate ’ may be the usual accident, but 
there is a fatality when many accidents fall in the 
way of one man, deserting another with every- 
thing seemingly in his favor.” 

He lifted her hand to put the ring back on her 
finger. 

She shuddered, and stared at his nervous, white 
hands as he slipped the studded circle of gold 
half on. 


26 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ People make wishes when they do this sort 
of thing,’' he said. “ May I ? ” 

“ May you — ” 

“ May I wish your ring on ? ” 

She made no answer. 

“ I wish that ‘ Kismet ’ may deal gently with 
me and make us friends.” 

“ The wish is lost in the telling of it,” she an- 
swered him. 

“ Then if it is lost I can charm it back. You 
forget — that night,” he said. 

At that moment, Leda and Hunter came into 
the room, and Van Keever could say no more to 
her. 

The two men did not stay long. When the 
street door had closed behind them, Miss Atwood 
went upstairs to write. Margaret nestled in the 
cushions of an ottoman and faced the sofa on 
which he had been sitting. 

“I hope I may never see you again,” she said, 
and drew the ring from her finger. 

The impression of his deformed. and peculiar 
personality came freshly and involuntarily over 
her. 

She seemed to see him sitting there, watching 
her. Going quickly out of the room, she hastily 
closed the door after her, and ran swiftly up the 
stairs to join Leda. 


THE PRINCESS ZELDA. 


27 


CHAPTER V. 

THE PRINCESS ZELDA. 

“ Bravo ! Bravo ! 

The words were accompanied by a loud clap- 
ping of hands as the dramatist, standing at the 
extreme end of the theatre to study the effect of 
his great scene, realized that his heroine was 
equal to the trying situation. 

It was the final rehearsal of his play, and 
Hunter was satisfied with his “ Princess.” 

Margaret Beale was dressed in a close fitting 
travelling gown of gray material, and the search- 
ing lime light seemed to penetrate the cloth, and 
bring into sharp outline her lithe figure. She had 
spoken the final words of her part. 

He is dead, you say? Then why do I love 
him still? If he is dead, then love is madness, 
for loving him still, I am wedded to a phantom.” 

Her eyes looked steadily into the gloom — the 
words of her part seemed to have thrown her into 
a trance. 

She turned deliberately round, and went into 
one of the dark stage boxes, lit only by a strug- 
gling gleam of sickly, yellow daylight from the 
dome of the theatre. In the gloom she stretched 
out her arm to draw a curtain back, when her 
hand touched some one. 


28 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


She could not see, but she felt, she instantly 
knew whose hand it was that held her own. 

I have been watching you, and wishing you’d 
come in here,” Van Keever said. 

“ You willed me to come. I felt it, but could 
not control myself,” she answered, trying to draw 
her hand away ; but he held it firmly in his strong 
grasp. 

There was a silence. 

In the close, narrow box, she could hear his 
heavy breathing. 

He bent toward her, and his arm touched her 
own, clad in its thin sleeve. 

She drew slightly away from him, but he, in 
turning, moved toward her. A bunch of white 
violets at her throat poured out a heavy perfume. 

“ When I first saw you, you wore those flowers. 
I’ve remembered it. Give them to me,” he whis- 
pered, and he undid the pin in the wet stems, and 
held the blossoms to his lips. 

“ I shall sit in this box to see you play the 
‘ Princess Zelda.’ I shall look at you, and think 
of this.” 

She had remained passive, amazed, disturbed, 
till now, when she arose quickly. 

His passion had weakened his strange power, 
and the spell was momentarily broken. 

“ Let me pass, please.” 

Van Keever dropped her wrist. 

“You won’t go like this, will you? I want to 


THE PRINCESS ZELDA. 2$ 

know you better ; to know all about you. Why 
can’t we be good friends?” 

She moved by him, and turning to quit the 
box her foot missed a step and she would have 
fallen but that she was within his reach and he 
caught her in his long, outstretched arms. 

Her head struck against a chair, and for an in- 
stant she was stunned. 

Van Keever held he/ tightly in his embrace. 

“Are you hurt ? ” he whispered. 

“No.” 

“ Before I let you go, one kiss.” 

She averted her head. 

“ Do you know,” he said, his lips drawing 
nearer to hers, “ what my wish really was when I 
put on your ring? It was this: that I might 
hold you in my arms and kiss you, as I do now — 
as I do now. I knew I should, but I did not 
think so soon.” 

The crushing strength of his arms — so strangely 
at variance with his form — and the close, warm 
pressure of his lips clinging to her own sent a 
subtle shiver ^f pain through her whole being. 

There was a daring in the act that overpow- 
ered her ; an assurance that defied the possibili- 
ties of his unlovely form. 

As a bird quivers and stiffens under the eye of 
a serpent, so Margaret trembled. 

A sudden revulsion of feeling followed imme- 
diately upon the recklessness of his action : her 


4 


30 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


strength returned, while his had weakened, and 
dragging herself with a muffled exclamation of 
rage from his embrace, she went on to the stage 
and through the' rest of her part, leaving the 
place directly after the rehearsal was over. 

She wanted to be alone — to think. What had 
she done? Was she quite mad, she wondered, 
to suffer this man to sit by her, holding her 
hand in his, leaning against her body?" Last of 
all, he had kissed her ! Her face burned at the 
remembrance. Reaching the house she stood in 
the hallway, and heard Leda singing; then, listen- 
ing for a moment she went to the room where 
she had first seen Van Keever. 

Closing the door, she sat down and thought of 
all he had said that day. The trick of his laugh 
when some saying by Hunter amused him again 
came over her. Her arms and shoulders felt 
the impress of his embrace still. The touch of 
him was as a profane remembrance. 

He had done what no other man had dared 
before, and she had submitted. 

There is a spell in strength to most women, and 
some potent though unrecognized influence af- 
fected Margaret in relation to this man, even 
while his appearance and assurance repelled her. 

There was a pitying mood in her feelings. 

The thought of this man’s success in life, in spite 
of the almost insurmountable obstacles in his 
way, his indomitable courage, his strange, self- 


THE INVITATION. 


3 ^ 


willed nature fascinated her, as a curious being 
seemingly apart from ordinary mortals will draw 
and hold our attention and have a common at- 
traction for us, born of wonder and morbid curi- 
osity. There was something in the very thought 
of him that set her nerves a-tingle, like unto a 
faint electric shock. 

A servant who had seen her come Jn handed 
her a box. It was filled with white violets, and 
his card lay among them. 

She realized that he had returned the flowers 
he had taken from her. She dropped the box oh 
the cushions beside her, and her cheeks turned 
crimson. On a sudden impulse, she knelt down 
beside the flowers and buried her face in them. 

“ I HATE him,'’ she said. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE INVITATION. 

The morning after the anticipated production 
of “ Princess Zelda ” at the Berkeley Lyceum had 
long dawned, while the heroine, of Hunter’s play 
still roamed beyond the border-line of earth- 
existence, amid the irrational fancies of a dream- 
land. The bustle of the household stir came 
to her in her dream, and partly loosed its 
spell. 


32 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

Who has not lived a dual existence in this 
way ? 

To Margaret, the play she had just left behind 
passes again before her in a series of pantomimic 
tableaus, only the stage which she is treading 
now reveals, as all scenes witnessed in slumber, a 
curious phantasmagoria, shadowed with darkness. 

The faces of the people are indistinguishable, 
— all but one; his face from a box near her is 
forcing her to look his way, until the stage sud- 
denly slips from under her and she stands in the 
green room. 

A crowd is there ; among its members an om- 
nipresent “ first nighter.” 

He holds out his hand to congratulate her, 
offering her a bunch of flowers. In her dream 
she cannot remember the man’s name, but dis- 
tinguishes him by his deep-caped coat, while she 
refuses the blossoms. 

“Do you npt see,” she says, “that I cannot 
take them ? I have others — from him!' and when 
he tries to force the roses into her grasp she cries 
out : 

“ No, no ! He is looking from that box. He 
is calling me ! I must go ! ” and as she rushes to 
the door the people strive to hold her back. 

“You are mad,” some one says, “ no one is call- 
ing you; ” and pointing to where she has seen the 
face, another one cries : 

“ Look ! the place is empty.” 


THE INVITATION. 


35 


She answers back, triumphantly : 

“ He is there,’' while she hurriedly enters the 
box. 

“ If he is there, touch him.” 

She puts her hand on the place where she has 
seen him. 

Even while her eyes still clearly see the figure 
of the man, her hand falls through into empty 
air; she cannot touch him. His misshapen form, 
his gleaming eyes, his thin, tremulous lips, are 
but the human outlines of a mocking phantom. 

Unconscious of this nightmare and indifferent 
to the exploits of Margaret’s fancy, Leda Atwood 
opens the door of her room softly, and with a 
glance takes in the delicate picture that has fasci- 
nated heroes and idiots alike. The only picture 
where love’s illusion, openly betrayed, must stand 
the test of honest merit — a woman’s bedroom. 

\ Through the yellow shades tJie morning sun 
struggles vainly to flood the room with its brill- 
iant, searching light. Upon a lounge at the foot 
of the bed pretty gowns of fine, filmy stuffs have 
been carelessly thrown in the hurry of retiring the 
night before. 

A delicate silk shawl of soft white crepe de 
chine trails from a card-board box, such as milli- 
ners use, to the ground, while beneath its soft 
folds lies a court gown worn by the stage Prin- 
cess. 

Apparel of all sorts is thrown carelessly about 


34 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


the room, as though their owner under pressure 
of excitement had been indifferent to their fate. 

On the toilet table flowers that had lain all 
night out of water make the air heavy with 
their dead, crushed leaves, and scent of decay. 

Stockings and ruffled skirts are heaped upon a 
chair close to the bed and a pair of dainty slippers 
peep from under it. 

On the broad, low pillows, her girl’s throat and 
soft transparent skin showing yet the traces of a 
whitened “ make up ” from the night before, lies 
she who had been the Princess Zelda.” 

Her thick dark braids of hair swing out over 
the ^¥'hite sheet’s edge in two long plaits, and 
hang, where the ends are unbraided, as heavy 
fringed tassels. 

Through her sleep Margaret hears Leda give 
some household direction to her servant, and the 
words produce an effect upon her senses such as 
the voices of tlie living have over us when we 
lie in death-still trance, as we go out in spirit 
to meet the fret and jar of active life, out from 
the border land of that poppy-strewn place of 
sleep. 

All women love to lie abed in the morning 
with their hands above their heads — thinking. 

Perhaps planning the -coming day’s campaign, 
as a general would a battle. Who can tell ? who 
knows ? who can even dare to guess what silent 
warfare rages in a woman’s brain? 


THE INVITATION. 


35 


It is a receptacle for quips and cranks, logic 
and nonsense — to be instantly abandoned at a 
crisis in favor of blind instinct. 

A fanciful little mind, excited over religion one 
day and a baby’s gown the next. 

Only a woman’s brain can accomplish such 
feats, for, while the mystery of political topics 
and things merely masculine are materially 
well known to women, what manly man has ever 
viewed a baby’s gown as a thing the putting 
together of which he knew and understood, any 
more than he could comprehend the mothers of 
these gowned babies ? 

When first Margaret awoke, the dream seemed 
a reality to her. Her eyes opened wide, wonder- 
ing ; she expected to see his face leaning over 
her beside the bed. 

Looking about the room, and seeing the great 
heap of withered flowers that had been left to 
die, she remembers how, on reaching home 
long past midnight, she had thought only of 
getting into bed, and to forget in the darkness and 
silence of the bedroom the excitement she had 
just passed through. 

Now the night had gone, and the excited, 
nervous mood with it. 

With the first return of reason she remembers 
that among all th^ messages of congratulation, 
she had received none from Van Keever. 

“ Perhaps he has written me,” is her first 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


36 

thought, as Leda steps silently to the bedside 
and places a pile of letters on a little table. 

Picking them up, Margaret shuffles through 
them. There is one from her mother, one from 
Aunt Maitland, one from her sister Elsie, one 
from — ah ! there it is ! one from him ! 

She had half opened it, when Leda spoke : 

“Lazy child! it’s very late, but as you didn’t 
get home until after one o’clock I kept every 
one in the house as still, as a mouse, so 
that you could sleep. Who do you think is 
here?” 

“ Mr. Van Keever ! ” says Margaret, quickly, 
and then blushes violently, as she realizes that 
she has nearly betrayed herself. 

Leda looks at her inquiringly a moment. 

“ How did you know? ” she asks, slowly. 

“ I didn’t — I only thought it — ” and then Mar- 
garet stops, and the two women question each 
other in silent gaze. Leda was- older than Mar- 
garet. She had learned the motto for a woman 
of the world — discretion. 

“ Knowing how you disliked him,” continues 
Leda, “ I just sent down word that you were 
very tired, and — ” before the words were spoken 
almost, Margaret has jumped from her bed and 
to Leda’s surprise she says, deliberately : 

“Ask him to wait — I will see him.” 

Leda left the room, wondering as to whether 
Hunter would be a safe confidant. 


THE INVITATION. 3/ 

Could Margaret be in love with this man ? It 
seemed too horrible to believe. 

In ten minutes’ time Margaret was going 
down the stairs, pausing at every other step to 
clasp the fastenings of the soft crepe tea gown 
she had hurriedly slipped on. 

Van Keever did not see her as she entered ; he 
was intently studying a note book. 

“What must you think of me ? I was only just 
getting up when you came?” she says. He looks 
at her, surprised. 

His impression of her while waiting had been 
the one retained from the evening before, as he 
had seen her from his box. The figure of a tall 
slender girl-woman, with a slow, subtle smile, and 
a measured, pretty way of doling out her words 
that added interest as one listened for the tardy 
succession of pleasant, mellow sounds. 

Now, coming before him without the trappings 
of the stage, her height seemed taken from her 
by the level of the room, and the contour of her 
bust and body seemed full and plump. 

“You must excuse me for coming so early,” 
he answers, “ but I am obliged to spend the 
afternoon with my mother at our country 
place.” 

She sinks into the soft cushions of an ottoman 
and, her arms resting on her knees, she poises her 
head forward on her hands and looks straight 
into his eyes. 


38 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ I dreamed of you last night,” she says, ab- 
ruptly. 

“Yes! what was your dream?” he asks. 
There is a tinge of indifference in his tone that 
displeases her. 

She drops her eyes before his gaze, and fixes 
them upon the toe of her small, beaded slipper ; 
then she continues : 

“ I dreamed of you, exactly as I saw you last 
night, and when I went to you and put my hand 
on your arm there was nothing there ; you were 
air.” 

“Ah! but Tm not anything so ethereal,” he 
answers. “ See, am I not flesh and blood ? ” 
and taking her hand he puts it on his shoulder 
and draws the other one to his arm. 

So near to him, Margaret notices that his face 
looks dark and tanned, against his light, loose 
coat, and that deep yellow lines dart around his 
eyes. 

“No! I’m not as ethereal as air,” he repeats 
while he drops her hands, and crossing the room 
goes over to the .mantel-piece, “ though I may 
have brought the spirit of the north wind home 
with me, for I spent yesterday and the day be- 
fore on my yacht, getting back just in time to 
see you and be charmed with your pretty acting 
of last evening. 

“ Miss Beale,” he continues, more earnestly, 
“ not another soul in that theatre appreciated 


THE INVITATION. 


39 


the charm of your voice as I did. Hunter was 
delighted with you. He sent a message to Miss 
Atwood through me, and I have one also to de- 
liver on my own account. I desire you and Miss 
Atwood, with whomsoever she chooses to ask, to 
come with me to-morrow to see a really wonderful 
collection of orchids at Fordham. Their owner 
is an old friend of mine. He gave me permission 
to ask whom I pleased. The drive there will be 
a pleasant one.” He pauses a moment, then 
adds : “ We might stop for luncheon on our way 
back.” 

At that moment, Leda appears at the door. 
She holds a yellow envelope in her hand. 

“ I’ve got to leave you, Margaret, early to-mor- 
row morning,” she says. “ My sister has wired 
me to join her at Lenox ; her little boy is ill — 
not dangerously so, but he is more than she can 
attend to.” 

There is a worried look in her eyes, as she 
adds : “ I hate leaving you alone, Margaret, 
dear.” 

“ If there is anything I can do to be of ser- 
vice — ” Van Keever begins, but at that momenta 
servant brings a card to Miss Atwood and hastily 
excusing herself she goes out to receive a visitor. 

“ Are you fond of orchids?” asks Van Keever. 

“ I love all flowers,” answers Margaret. 

“ Then come with me to-morrow.” 

“ I shall be alone — please excuse me, I — ” 


40 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ Will you go?” he persists, his eyes fixed on 
her as on that night at Mrs. Rousby’s. 

“ I know of no one to go with me. ” 

“ Come alo7ie ! ” 

“ How can I ! what would Leda say if she 
knew it?” She speaks softly, and against her 
own volition has moved to his side. He seizes 
her hand. His touch thrills her. 

“ I am satisfied — you zvill come,” he says. 

At that moment Leda, accompanied by her 
brother-in-law, comes back to say that she will 
leave on the afternoon train for Lenox. 


CHAPTER VII. 

AT VAN KEEVER’S ROOMS. 

“Are you tired?” Van Keever asked, on the 
following day, as the coup6 rattled along home- 
wards from their country trip. 

- “ No ; I have had a charming afternoon. I 
wish Leda could have seen the orchids.” 

“ I don’t, unless you miss her and find the 
drive with me tiresome. It has been a great 
pleasure, one of the few bright days that illumine 
a rather dreary life.” 

He watched her, with a side glance, to note 
the effect of his words. Her face glowed. 

“ I am very glad that I can in any way add to 


AT VAN KEEVER’S 'ROOMS. 41 

your happiness,” she said, speaking almost in a 
whisper. 

You cannot imagine,” he went on, “ how I 
appreciate your surrender of all scruples, by tak- 
ing this trip with me to-day alone. I almost 
think you did it to please me — yet why should I 
say that, so few people really feel or care.” 

‘‘ I care.” 

She could not repress the words. 

The coupe rattled on, while the two inside 
were silent. The seat was narrow, they were 
very close together. 

An electric light streamed into the carriage as 
they turned a corner. Van Keever grasped her 
shoulders and drew her into the white light. She 
hung her head. 

“No, no!” he cried, “look up; I want to 
read in your face what you have just thought,” 
and then she turned her face to his. 

For an instant her features blurred before his 
eyes. 

The coup^ jolted suddenly, and in its quick 
swirl, she was thrown nearer to him. 

“ We must be near home,” she said, un- 
steadily. 

“ I cannot bear to lose you so soon, Margaret ; 
dine with me to-night. No ! don’t shake your 
head. Be kind and com«e. Don’t condemn me 
to a lonely bit of dinner at the club. Leda is 
away. Say yes ! ” 


42 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


The coup6 crossed Twenty-third Street, and 
continuing up Fifth Avenue a short distance 
drew up alongside the pavement in front of a 
shop window. 

Van Keever alighted, and entering a side door, 
Margaret followed him slowly up a narrow flight 
of stairs. She could think of nothing but the 
ungainly figure climbing clumsily in front of her. 
His presence ruled her. 

‘‘My rooms,” explains Van Keever, when 
within two steps of the second landing. 

Johnson, hearing the carriage stop, has opened 
the door, and even he notices that for an 
instant Margaret hesitates. Van Keever has 
anticipated this, however, and invitingly extends 
his hand toward her. 

They enter a hall. In the flickering 
light of a hall-lamp above their heads, a 
huge oak carved chiffonneire looms up before 
them, and in the large, square mirror above 
it Margaret sees a pale, girlish face and wonders 
if it is her own reflection. 

An entrance on the left is covered with dark, 
heavy curtains. Johnson noiselessly parts a 
pair of thick velvet portieres on the right, and 
Van Keever leads Margaret into a great "square 
room. 

A big carved oak table stands in the centre, 
bright with snow white cloth and shining silver, 

Covers are set for two. 


AT VAN KEEVER’S ROOMS. 43 

“You expected that I would come,” says Mar- 
garet, hesitating as she notices the table. 

“Not at all; I expected Hunter,” quickly 
replies Van Keever. 

The only light in the apartment comes from 
the wax candles on the table, and the rose-tinted 
shades subdue their flames and make the dark 
coloring and decoration of the room seem 
more ominous and shadowy. A miniature basket 
of white violets stands on a small ivory table in 
a corner, filling the air with their burden of sweet 
perfume. The ceiling is lofty, while the stained 
and polished floor is almost hidden beneath the 
hush of heavy rugs and tiger skins. The sombre 
grandeur of the Henry VHI. period in which 
the room abounds makes a strange contrast for 
the hunch-backed figure standing there, almost 
lost in a cavern of shadow, as he watches 
Margaret’s face. 

A motion of his hand, and obediently John- 
son retires, dropping the portieres in their 
place again. As they fall noiselessly together. 
Van Keever sinks into an easy chair in a 
window corner of the room ; it is an old fash- 
ioned hand sleigh that has carried many a 
grande dame of the Louis XV. court across 
the ice, pressed into service by some gallant 
courtier. 

Margaret throws her hat on a chair, and looks 
curiously at everything that surrounds Van 


44 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Keever. The fact of his living there gives the 
room a subtle attraction for her. She must see 
every book, every picture, all the appointments 
that his eyes see daily. She knows in her heart 
that she should not be there, and for that reason 
assumes all the more careless unconcern in her 
manner. 

“ So you call these bachelor quarters.” 

Van Keever is watching her, amused at her 
curiosity. 

‘‘Yes,” he answers; “you can imagine how 
lonely I am here sometimes.” 

She smiles. 

“ Come, sir, don’t expect me to pity you. I 
never saw bachelor’s quarters before, but I will 
never condole with a man who talks to me 
about his cheerless fireside again. Why, it 
couldn’t be any cosier if a woman lived here, and 
arranged all those pretty things,” with an airy 
wave of her full-gloved arm. “Whose taste? 
your sister’s? ” 

“ No.” 

A word, the least word, and she might turn on 
him, and after that she would never speak to him 
again. 

He knew women. 

So much depended on trifles in these mat- 
ters. 

Espying a bookcase, she opens the first volume 
her hand touches ; it is a copy of Swinburne, and 


AT VAN KEEVER’S ROOMS. 45 

the page turns to the famous poem, “ Atalanta in 
Calydon.” 

“ I was reading that yesterday,” he says, from 
the shadow that envelopes the corner where he 
is sitting. He had placed the book, so that it 
would be the first she should touch, and he knew 
it would open at this very page. 

He was an artist in affairs of the heart. 

“ I never read anything of his,” and Margaret’s 
low voice runs on with the burden of the verse, 

“ And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, 

Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, 

Follows with dancing and fills with delight, 

The msenad and the bassarid.” 

Bending her head nearer the soft candle light, 
she repeats the lines again to herself in a lower 
tone. 

The rose-colored shades soften the flesh tints 
of her neck, and the clinging lace around it 
loosens as if in obedience to Van Keever’s secret 
thoughts. 

The charm of these lines to her are in the fact 
that his eyes have looked at thgm, his hands 
have touched the page. 

Like most young girls of Margaret’s innocence 
and purity, this first magnetic influence, this first 
love spell appealed keenly to her unawakened 
passion. She did not realize that her senses 
only yielded to this fascination, not her heart 


46 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Guided only by the surface powers of her nature, 
she mistook the sense of touch, of sight, of hear- 
ing for serious thought ; nay more, for love. 

This simulated feeling takes possession of her 
now, as the verse hums its musical metre merrily 
through her head, and tunes itself into a jingle in 
her brain, until she walks, talks, and moves to 
the catch in the rhyme. 

Each little black letter weaves a spell, like so 
many tiny little imps, to throw some mystic 
charm around her. 

She even tries to put herself in the mood he 
had been in when he marked the lines : 

“ And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, 

Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, 

Follows with dancing and fills with delight. 

The maenad and the bassarid.” 

As she passes the piano, she looks over some 
music. “ Sing something,” Van Keever asks of her 

Her blood tingles, as she seems to feel his 
ardent gaze as though it were his touch about 
her form, and mechanically her fingers draw a 
rich harmony from the instrument, and with her 
gaze fastened on a picture of the friar in Juli- 
ette’s story she sings. 

It is a song of love. 

The story of a hapless passion and its sacred 
sacrifice. She sings it as sweetly, innocently, as 
a child singing to its doll. 


AT VAN KEEVER’S ROOMS. 


47 


“ I wonder how much this woman knows?” 

Van Keever asks the question in his secret 
thought. 

For the past two hours the same question has 
been formulating in his mind. 

Now he decides that of love, or of passion she 
knows nothing. 

The desire of the man grows stronger within 
him every moment. He would like to teach her 
the meaning of one word, that in the learning of 
of it she might sing the song as other women 
had done under the same spell. 

As she wheels around on the piano chair, he 
notices her gown is of blue stuff, with a white 
loose front in it. 

“You look like a large plump bluebird,” he 
says ; and they both laugh as two people will, 
who temporarily inhabit a fool’s paradise. 

“Dinner is served,” Johnson announces in the 
doorway. 

“ Dear me ! It seems no time at all since we 
came in,” exclaims Margaret. 

In reality it had been fifteen minutes. Van 
Keever knows this, and is silent. 

Without hesitation, Margaret daintily caresses 
her hair before the mirror. It is a novelty to her, 
this dinner a deux. She has a vague notion 
that only very pretty women are admitted to such 
honors, and her vanity whispers : 

“You must be beautiful — for him.” 


48 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Van Keever carries the basket of white violets 
from their obscurity and puts them in the centre 
of the table, and they seem to blush in the roseate 
shading of the lights. 

“ I will sit here in the mother’s seat,” Mar- 
garet says. 

“ When I was a little girl, my younger brother 
and I used to quarrel at our impromptu 
tea parties over which of us should be the 
‘ mother ’ and pour out the tea.” The curves 
in her wrist show graceful outlines as she lifts a 
glass. 

“ And why did you both want to be the 
mother? ” he asks, sitting near her. 

“ Why ? Because the mother got the most tea.” 

The womanly indifference with which Mar- 
garet accepts this dinner, as if it had been a feast 
prepared by magic, amuses Van Keever. 

“You enjoy the dinner?” he asks presently, 
while Johnson fills her claret glass. 

“ It is delicious,” she answers, simply. 

“You don’t ask me by what rapid transit pro- 
cess it has been cooked,” he adds, smiling ; 
“or how it happened to be waiting for us.” 

“ How was it ? ” she asks. 

“ Because I ordered it for you yesterday.” 

She pushes back her chair. 

“ I knew you’d come,” he explains. 

An angry light comes into her eyes. At that 
moment the bell rings sharply. 


AT VAN KEEVER’S ROOMS. 49 

“That’s Hunter’s ring! ’’ Van Keever declares. 

There is a pause. Hunter rings again. 

If he keeps on some one is sure to let him 
in,” he continues, ruefully. 

“ Johnson, bolt the door, he orders.” 

No sooner is the order obeyed, than they 
hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Some one 
has let him in. 

The two sit looking fixedly at each other. 

The man without knocks loudly. He knows 
by Van Keever’s brightly lit windows that some 
one is in his rooms. 

The notion of being shut in a cosy apart- 
ment that some one outside is vainly trying to 
enter, and the subtle pleasure of picturing Hunt- 
er’s amazement could he have peeped into the 
room and recognized Van Keever’s visitor lends 
a spice of zest to the situation. 

After a parting knock at the door, they hear 
him descending the stairs again. 

“The King of France is going down the hill,” 
Van Keever says, and Johnson brings in the 
coffee. 

After the coffee. Van Keever foregoes his 
cigarette to draw his chair nearer Margaret. 

“You make me think of a dear sweet woman I 
knew,” he begins. “ I hear from her yet. She 
is in England now. She cared for me once — but 
I knew her life would only be made unhappy, 
through mine, so I bade her good bye! The day 


50 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


she sailed, I longed to say: “Don’t go, don’t 
go — for my sake ! stay — but I left it unsaid.” 
There was a pause ; then he added, “ I am not so 
brave now.” 

“ And do you care for her yet ? ” Margaret 
asked, slowly, “as — as you used to?” 

“ I respect her — she is my dear friend — love 
her? — no ! ” 

“That will do, Johnson,” says Van Keever, tes- 
tily. 

The presence of the servant, as he clears the 
table, is irksome to both of them. 

As the valet glides noiselessly away, the por- 
tieres have barely fallen behind his retreating 
figure when Van Keever siezes her hand and 
presses it to his lips, parched and dry with evil 
thirst. 

“ Let us sit here,” he says in whispers, lest the 
unsteady tones of his voice should awaken her 
alarm. In an obscure corner is a luxurious divan, 
covered with handsomely embroidered Turkish 
and Persian cushions. 

He leaps into the soft labyrinth, and with a 
fearful strength draws her head upon a cushion 
beside him. He does not heed her muffled cry, 
the echo of her soul in its last rebellion. 

Her eyes droop and the lids flutter drowsily, 
like a dove’s under the baneful gleam of the ser- 
pent’s eye. 

Van Keever controls himself well, and as they 


AT VAN KEEVERS ROOMS. 5 1 

chat in disconnected phrases, he deftly takes 
the hair pins one by one from her hair, without 
forcing her attention to what he is doing. He 
has gained his skill by long experience, and his 
hands pass lightly to the large tortoise shell 
comb. The thought gratifies his mood that until 
now only gentler hands than his have dared to do 
what he is doing. To him the beauty of her 
hair is that it has not trailed in the dust. 

He has taken out the last pin, when she real- 
izes dreamily what he has done. He shakes out 
the soft, silken meshes of hair, and, falling, they 
spread over her neck, forming a canopy under 
which which his hand creeps. How glossy this 
hair ; how soft, how thick ! “ How great the 

difference,” he thinks, “between this one and 
those others. I am indeed fortunate.” Johnson 
calls but does not come in. 

“ May I go out for the evening ? ” 

“ No,” Van Keever answers, briefly. 

His voice frightens Margaret and she starts to 
her feet. “ It must be late,” she exclaims, “ I 
must go.” 

“ No, it is not late. Please don’t hurry away 
like this. Don’t go so soon.” 

“ I must go.” 

Van Keever looks at her with half shut, spec- 
ulative eyes. “ Johnson,” he says, “ call a coupe.” 

Margaret twists her hair into a rough knot, 
and her hands and wrists grow red with the 


52 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


exertion of reaching upward. She slips on her 
hat and when its pin has fastened it firmly and 
she has found her gloves, Van Keever motions 
her to a seat beside him and she obeys. “ Sit 
down,” he says, when will you come again ?” 

I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do! When? Soon?” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Kiss me good-night,” he murmurs, weakly. 
She leans her head upon his shoulder. 

“ I shall not let you go like this again,” he 
whispers, “ so soon ; the next time you must pay 
me a longer visit.” 

“ I feel half asleep,” she murmurs, stupidly, 
“ ever since you let my hair down. I know I look 
odd. Don’t I ? ” 

“ Not at all; you are beautiful.” 

As with an effort, she moves toward the cur- 
tains. He catches her hand and holds the 
portieres together. “ Promise me you will come 
again — soon — the day after to-morrow — Friday,” 
he urges, fervidly. 

“ I will see.” 

“ Say — I will come.” 

“ No — let me go ! — yes — I promise ” 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 


53 


CHAPTER VIIL 

AND ANGELS WEPT. 

Van Keever was lying at full length on a 
sofa, welcoming such stray breeze as might inno- 
cently lose its way in the great city, and puff into 
the room through the open windows. It was 
early in the evening, and like most men ot the 
world. Van Keever never cared to go out too 
early. The plot and passion of his life rarely 
developed much before midnight. 

He heard voices on the stairs. Women laugh- 
ing, and men encouraging their folly, in under- 
tones, as usual. 

It was Johnson’s day out. 

“ Come in ! ” cried Van Keever, in answer to a 
light tap on the door. 

A woman came in first. 

“Bertie, I thought I knew your voice,” ex- 
claims Van Keever. As she came to the side of 
the sofa, he kissed her gloved hand. 

“Did you see that, Mr. Motford?” she asked 
of a dapper little man, who slowly followed her. 

“Yes, my dear,” answered the dapper little 
man, “and I admire his taste. How are you, 
Van Keever ? ” 

Mr. Motford shook his hand after a dispirited, 
helpless fashion peculiarly his own, 


54 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ We've brought Mrs. Grandolph with us,” he 
announced. 

“ I know you are ahvays glad to see me,” ex- 
claimed that lady, advancing into the room. 

“Ahvays, my dear Mrs. Grandolph.” 

She is a small woman, insignificant and child- 
like beside Mrs. Motford’s plump personality. 

Mr. Motford assisted the ladies to remove their 
jackets. Hunter, who was one of the party, 
strolled over to the window, and looked idly into 
the street. 

He was such a dreamy fellow when not under 
the influence of any active undertaking. 

A book lay on the table. Mrs. Motford picked 
it up. 

“Ah ! Edgar Saltus’ last. Who has read it? ” 

“ I have ! Not bad! ” declared Hunter. 

“ He hates it,” laughed Van Keever, “because 
the plot is not suited to steal for dramatization. 
Speaking of Hunter, Saltus said to me one 
day, ‘ I like Hunter. He is bound to succeed, 
because he is constantly fertilizing the pas- 
ture of his imagination with other men’s 
brains.’ ” 

“ Cleved', very clever indeed,” Mr. Motford re- 
joined, abstractedly, looking at his watch. “ Sorry 
to leave you, but I have an appointment at the 
club. I’ll come back for you later, my dear.” 

Mrs. Motford waved her hand carelessly, and 
the devoted husband hastily withdrew. Van 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 55 

Keever took the book from Mrs. Motford’s hand, 
and turned the pages carelessly. 

“There’s one chapter here,” he said, “about 
the neatest thing, in the way of testing how 
much the public will stand, that I’ve seen yet. 
Let me read it to you.” 

Van Keev sat in a chair, the book on his 
knees, and slowly and with mucTi emphasis read 
a portion of a certain chapter. 

“ The girl had thrown herself upon the soft, 
cool grass, and mad, wild bees, drunk with the 
honey of flowers, flew about her head. The pine 
needles fell from the trees above her, and left 
their scent in her hair. She was clad in some 
*sheer white stuff. The face of the man bending 
over her looked oddly brown against her pallid 
sleeve. Where an unruly plant held her skirt 
back, a line of silken clocked work, showed on 
her open-meshed stocking that revealed the flesh 
through its pattern. The ftian, Buten Arkard, 
was intoxicated by the beauty of the woman and- 
the hour. It was twilight, and already great 
shadows threw their deepening, sinuous shapes 
under the trees and made graves. Arkard 
pressed his lips on her soft, fair throat. 

“ * Love, do you love me ? ’ she murmured, 
huskily. 

“ For answer he gathered her into his arms. 
That was at five o’clock. At seven the question 


56 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

was answered. She could face death now. She 
had known love ! ” 

There was a pause. Hearing a cessation in the 
reading) Hunter turned back into the room. 

“ The modern American novel,” he said, 
grows worse daily. I shall be glad when it has 
run its course, and the public is satiated.” 

“Will the public ever be satiated?” Van 
Keever asked, gravely. 

Hunter left the query unnoticed. 

“ I hope then a reaction will set in which will 
demand that the heroine be dressed in Quaker 
gowns, and drink nothing but — ” 

“ Bromo caffeine ! ” suggested Mrs. Motford, 
laughing. 

“ No, buttermilk ! Most women have forgotten 
the name.” 

“ We remember it in second childhood,” Mrs. 
Motford answered. “ It is like religion ; we take 
it up early and late ifi life.” 

“Then again,” went on Hunter, “ that abomi- 
nable French epigrammatic style of writing will be 
done away with. Those chopped off phrases a la 
Victor Hugo that read when imitated in English 
as if one had begun a sentence and was called out 
of the room before one had time to finish it. And 
now we have this realistic school of American 
authors that has cropped up lately. They have 
read so many French translations that it is a case 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 


57 


of putting the cart before the horse becoming 
more absurd every day. If this keeps on, I mean 
to write a pamphlet and call it, ‘ French as it is 
Englished ! ’ Why, in time, instead of saying, 
‘ It’s a fine day, ’ this class of fanatics will stretch 
it into, ‘ He makes handsome times the present 
day,’ or will ask for a boiled potato as, ‘an 
apple of the earth at the natural ! ’ ” 

“ If this era of perfection in fiction should ever 
set in, what will you do for your ‘ types of 
women,’ ” asked Van Keever, “ that you drama- 
tize from life.^ If people are too good to read 
about such frivolous women, they won’t go to see 
them on the stage.” 

“ Ah 1 ” exclaimed Hunter, excitedly waving 
his eyeglasses, “ that’s a different matter ; the 
public doesn’t go to see the play now. They go 
to see the scenery and the star.” 

“ I am sorry that I have no buttermilk to 
offer you. Hunter,” said Van Keever, filling the 
wine glasses upon the table. 

“Yes,” chimed in Mrs. Motford, “at twenty, 
we trust over buttermilk, when at forty we doubt 
over wine.” 

“ Shades of pld Durand ! not over this wine,” 
cried Van Keever. “ Who doubts over this wine, 
is a cynic.” 

“ Worse than that,” added Hunter, “he’s dys- 
peptic.” 

“To the health of the perfect woman!” ex- 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


claimed Mrs. Motford, with a hard little laugh, as 
she held her glass high in air. 

To the young and innocent !” said Van Keever, 
gravely, sipping his wine. 

‘‘To her mother!” declared Hunter, melo- 
dramatically. They drained their glasses, and an 
awkward pause followed Hunter’s toast. Mrs. 
Motford picked up her jacket, and affected pre- 
parations to go while she said gayly : 

“ If my other half comes here for me, tell him 
I grew tired of waiting and have gone home.” 

“ Going?” asked Van Keever, with a tone that 
said “ go.” 

Mrs. Grandolph was arranging her hat, until 
Hunter was ready to assist her with her coat. 

“ When are we to be photographed ? ” asked 
Mrs. Motford, moving toward the door. 

Van Keever’s eyes glistened a moment, as he 
contemplated the woman’s plump figure, and un- 
derstood the covert smile on her face. 

“When it is cold enough to wear nothing but 
tiger skins,” he answered, with a laugh ; “ I want 
the pictures taken in my rooms to be original. 
They must eclipse the French models of art.” 

“ Never 1 ” exclaimed Mrs. Grandolph, in a 
shrill voice ; “ my husband would never allow it.” 

“ Don’t ask him ! ” suggested Mrs. Motford, 
as they said good-night and went out chattering 
into the hall. 

“ Who was the woman in your rooms the other 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 59 

ni^ht when I called?” asked Hunter of Van 
Keever, in a low tone. 

“ My sister; I didn’t want her to meet a clever, 
dangerous Bohemian like you,” answered Van 
Keever. They shook hands, laughing the while, 
and parted. 

Their friendship was a peculiar one to the out- 
side world ; to each other a useful one. Hun- 
ter, a Bohemian to the core, had first met Van 
Keever at a very lively supper, where the wine, 
the women, and the mood of both had served to 
make them better friends than they would have 
become in weeks of ordinary acquaintance ; Van 
Keever was a convenient friend when those little 
pecuniary difficulties that are apt to beset the 
paths of genius came upon him. 

Van Keever was, in turn, launched by Hunter 
into the very heart of the two grades of Bohe- 
mian society. Through the influence of his 
family, which was one of the old Knickerbocker 
class, he had had a surfeit of what he termed, 
“ eminently respectable ” people. “ They are apt 
to be worse than vagabond Bohemians,” he once 
told Hunter, “only, like ostriches, they stick 
their heads in the sand of hypocrisy and one may 
not even suggest that their actions are not hidden 
also. A set of people that I always liken to a 
woman I know, who has her husband and lover 
in her box at the opera every night in the season, 
and thinks to hide it all by going to church on 


6o 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Sunday with a massive silver clasped prayer book 
and the look of a saint.” 

Van Keever closed the door quickly after his 
guests, peeped through the curtains into the 
room on the left, with a certain excitement in his 
manner, and then walked into the sitting-room and 
looked at the clock. To be more sure he climbed 
on a footstool, examined the dial closely, and 
compared the time with his own watch. He 
was nervous, his limbs trembled and his lips 
quivered with suppressed emotion. 

“ She promised,” he murmured, “ she prom- 
ised.” 

The jar and stir of street life came in through 
the open windows and fell unheeded upon his 
cans, as Van Keever threw himself upon a sofa 
and lay there deep in thought. 

The evening was warm, sultry, breathless. 
The air seemed to throb with his heart beats, as 
he waited, expectant, and stirred by conflicting 
ideas. 

“Will she come?” he kept thinking, “she 
said Friday. She will come.” Then a pause, 
“ But will she ? ” The clock ticked away the 
minutes ; minutes that were spent by him in the 
ecstasy of anticipation. 

Gradually his spirits rose ; his conceit prompted 
him to feel sure of her. 

“ What would she say when she came in ? ” 
he wondered. “ Would she look him full in 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 6l 

the face? No — he scarcely thought so. He 
must be very careful not to omit telling her that 
his sister and she would be good friends some 
day. She would probably say : ‘ Would you 
like your sister to be in some man's rooms as I 
am in yours?’ They always said that. It was 
the usual question. He must say no word he 
might not utter under her father’s roof. He must 
be careful — he must not be too bold in his wooing!” 

He fancied himself greeting her. She would 
come in without a smile on her face, and he 
would take her gloves and hat, and sitting beside 
her, not too near, talk to her — of the weather 1 

In his mind there lingered faint impressions 
left by the women who had visited him in these 
rooms. 

“Bah! wantons,” he muttered, angrily. 

Nothing so disgusts a man as the woman who 
once pleased him most. 

Men wagt to found their own school of love 
and passion. They want to teach the lesson 
themselves, and once it is taught they cannot 
unteach it. 

Ah ! there the lesson lies. 

The memories of these women of the past 
seemed, to intensify his longing for the woman 
to come ; for none of these past fancies, beautiful, 
bare-necked, barbaric women would he lift his 
hand now. They had been too easily attained. 

He was done with them, gamines oi love’s 


62 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


by-ways. Margaret’s face came to his excited 
mind. A face with unkissed lips, and pure good 
eyes, with a clear constrast between the iris and 
the white, none of that cloudy shading of the two 
that comeS'With late hours! Her hands, so soft 
and white, were the prettier that they were with- 
out that foolish polishing and tinting of nails— 
a habit that reminded him of the demi-monde. 
This Margaret would teach him pleasures he- had 
forgotten years ago ; pleasures such as are rarely 
known. 

He could almost feel her lips clinging to his 
own. 

Her lips ! her eyes ! her arms 1 

Her kiss, he felt, would be as strong wine in 
his veins ; he would become drunk in the 
caress. He rested his head on the edge of the 
lounge and looked down on a dark spot on the 
carpet, so that the light might not disturb his 
thoughts, his arms stretched out abov^ his head, 
his hands convulsively clutching its sides. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, thickly, “I want 
to hold you in my arms. I want to” — 

The clock struck. 

She was not coming ! 

He felt that he had been cheated, tricked. 
All the fine fancies he had been feeding his 
imagination with faded away, and a fact, one 
brutal fact, stared him in the face. He had 
dressed up this woman with delicate ideas, but 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 63 

now she seemed no more to him than the others 
— of no more value. It was not the woman he 
had wanted. 

It was the experience. 

A faint noise outside ; then a knock. 

“ Come in,” he cries, quickly. 

A rustle of a woman’s skirts makes itself heard. 
Van Keever moves a few steps forward and 
pauses, his head turned slightly so as to listen 
more intently. Every swirl of the flounces upon 
the carpet inspires his imagination. 

First an arm clothed in the so^: folds of a long 
Suede glove appears and raising the portiere 
slowly reveals a tall, lithe girl. Her head is 
bowed in girlish embarrassment. 

‘'I knew you would come,”exclaimsVan Keever. 

As he takes her hand he notices how pale she 
is. She is trembling violently as he leads her 
to a seat ; her fingers are tightly clenched and as 
they yield unwillingly to his pressure a piece 
of paper, crumpled and stained, drops from her 
gloved hand and flutters to the floor. 

Van Keever picks it up. 

For you,” she says. 

Smoothing the wrinkled sheet so that the 
writing can be deciphered he reads : 

Friday. 

I cannot come to you this evening. 

No ! I cannot believe that I, Margaret Beale, can so far 
forget myself. 


64 her first adventure. 

Even now I see myself knocking at your door, and hear 
your voice. 

I am sure it is best that — 


The letter ends abruptly. 

“ I will stay but a moment/’ she says. 

Van Keever puts the letter in the loose pocket 
of his jacket, and taking a photograph from a 
bracket brings it to her. 

“ My sister,” he says. She glances at it and 
does not notice, the name of an actress on the 
margin. 

She trembles and hesitates and talks in mono- 
syllables, just as he expected. 

“ I cannot realize what has brought me here,” 
she declares repeatedly. She is too young, too 
good, to know the tricks men practice under the 
mask of love. 

Why shouldn’t you be here with me. We 
have but one life to live. Here we can secure 
happiness, hereafter we know of none,” he an 
swers. 

A vivid sheet of white flame suddenly illumines 
the darkness without and is instantly followed by 
a thunder-roll that seems to shake the earth. 
There is a clatter of hoofs, as horses are 
whipped into greater speed by their drivers. A 
messenger boy runs shouting along the pavement, 
to make believe he is frightened. 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 6 $ 

The hum of the streets accelerates a little, 
then dies away. 

Every one is rushing for shelter from the storm. 

“You are frightened?” asks Van Keever, as 
the lace curtains, caught by a sudden gust of hot 
wind, flutter into the room and one of them en- 
tangles him in its clinging muslin. He extricates 
himself, and as he closes the window another 
flash of lightning reveals him in the bluish light 
of the sudden glare. 

For a moment, her nerves strung to their high- 
est tension, Margaret experiences a revulsion of 
feeling as she watches the misshapen figure, 
barely tall enough to reach the clasp which fas- 
tens the windows. 

The shame and danger of her situation momen- 
tarily torture her mind, and she is about to 
escape while his back is turned, in fear and abhor- 
rence of the man, when the crash of thunder 
numbs her senses and when its force is spent his 
arm is around her waist and his ardent gaze con- 
trols her will. 

“ It is going to rain ; you must stay till the 
storm has passed,” he murmurs, taking her hat 
and shawl as he speaks. 

“ The lightning frightens you,” he adds, observ- 
ing the increased pallor of her cheeks. 

“ Come into the other room. We shall not 
hear the roar of the storm or see the lightning 
there.” 


66 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


His touch is magnetic. He seems to absorb 
a power from the air surcharged with electric 
force. 

“Tell me not to come,” she moans, feeling 
herself under the strange influence that he had 
cast about her for the first time at Mrs. Rousby's. 

“ I cannot ; I love you — it is fate,” she hears 
him say, as they pass through the hall, and beyond 
another heavy pair of curtains into an inner room. 

As one in a dream she sees and knows every- 
thing about her, but she cannot raise her arm to 
take his hand from her waist, she can only speak 
in a low, gasping whisper. 

“ Let me go ; you will despise me. I — ” but 
she can say no more, for her head is pressed back 
and almost smothered in a great soft cushion, 
her lips are sealed with kisses. 

The room is sombre, in keeping with the char- 
acter of its occupant. 

The chiffonni^re is the only light spot in the 
room, and that reflects the taste and fancy of 
many women. 

It is of the Pompadour period, draped in white 
and tender blue, miniature curtains and a canopy 
above enclosing the mirror. 

In a corner is a peculiarly formed dwarf 
chair, so made that Van Keever might recline 
with unusual ease and freedom of limb in his 
bath-robe after the exhaustion of his morning 
bath. 


AND ANGELS WEPT. 


67 


Against the wall, hardly visible, a candelabra 
stands on a bracket in the further corner of the 
chamber. 

Margaret notes these things as she gazed 
vaguely around the room. There are two 
windows, heavily curtained, which look out 
on a narrow courtyard. Suddenly her hands are 
in his, her head on his arm. Half buried in 
cushions, he whispers words she leaves unan- 
swered. 

The noise of the storm comes faintly to their 
ears, as if they were in a cave underground, while 
the rain sounds like “the ceaseless murmur of a 
fountain. 

No more troubled protestations from her now. 
His touch in smoothing her forehead leaves her 
half dazed. 

Gently laying her head upon the cushions he 
lifts her body in his arms, and the folds of her 
dress drawn tightly about her form reveal the 
sinuous outlines as she lies at full length, her 
eyes half closed. With cat-like tread and feline 
swiftness Van Keever goes to the front room 
and extinguishes every light ; he pauses in the 
hallway to securely bolt the door, then he enters 
the inner room and blows out the shifting flames 
of the wax candles in the candelabra. 

The room is not in total darkness, for suspended 
against the wall just above Margaret’s head is a 
hideous Japanese mask used by the Japanese 


68 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


actor to represent villagy. Behind it burns a red 
light, giving a weird - glow to the hollow eyes, 
the grinning jaws, and the red flannel tongue hang- 
ing from the cavernous mouth. 

It is a fancy of Van Keever’s ; it has hung there 
for years and the light behind it burns through- 
out the night. 

Van Keever looks up at it a moment, hesitat- 
ing then an evil smile plays about his thin lips 
and he gives the tongue a pat with his finger and 
watches it as it sways under the impetus of his 
touch. 

“‘‘We look enough alike*to be brothers,’’ he 
mutters to himself grimly. 

Lying amid the yellow cushions, her white 
neck is more beautiful than ever in contrast with 
the surrounding shadows. Her half closed eyes 
have lost their lustre, he observes. 

He does not hear the clock strike midnight, 
and all count of time is lost; yet in the first hour 
of another day his name is forever blotted from 
the records of Eternity. 


THE PARTING GUN. 


69 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARTING GUN. 

“Johnson, to-morrow morning I wish you to 
run down to College Point and have things set in 
order on the yacht. We will cruise along the 
Sound while the heat in town is stifling.” 

“ What day will you sail, sir? ” 

“ The day after to-morrow. Say nothing of 
this to any one. To all callers I am merely out of 
town. You will accompany us, as usual.” 

“ You will use all the cabins, sir? ” 

“ Yes, I expect to use them all.” 

These orders were given by Van Keever within 
a week following the events of the last chapter. 

For several days it had become impossible for 
Van Keever’s friends to see him. People going 
to his office were told he was at his rooms, and 
there they were informed by Johnson that he 
was out of town, and yet a person watching the 
house closely would have noted the appearance 
of a misshapen. figure every now and then at the 
windows, and also that the valet daily carried a 
note to a certain house in Madison Avenue. 

Leda Atwood, finding that her stay in Lenox 
would be indefinite, had written to Margaret 
about it, and Margaret was undecided whether to 
return home or not, when the next mail brougTit 


70 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


a line from Aunt Maitland, announcing her inten- 
tion to pay an extended visit in New York. The 
date of her arrival was fixed, so Margaret had 
engaged rooms in advance and now a week still 
remained before the aunt was expected. This 
was the time to be spent on Van Keever’s yacht. 
What castles in the air they made for that week ! 
What happiness it would be ! The salt breezes, he 
wrote, were to bring the roses back to 'Margaret’s 
cheeks. They were really going to know each 
other’s every thought; and all this in a week. 

Yet it was possible, for many an aristocratic 
Knickerbocker family in New York arranged 
their first lineage on the foam of the sea ; in the 
Mayflower, for instance. That ship, according 
to tradition, was a highly respectable craft, and it 
must have carried a very respectable lot of peo- 
ple, judging by the demand there is for associa- 
tion with these emigrants to-day. 

The love that was exchanged on the Mayflower 
and the divertisements of a pleasure yacht in 
1891, differ essentially in respectability, however. 

Probably Margaret did not weigh the matter 
so seriously in her mind when she corresponded 
regarding the coming trip with Van Keever. 

Did she love him ? 

Who could say I What girl could analyze the 
qualities of such an experience? He swayed her 
at will ; that was all she knew. 

On the morning of the day appointed when 


THE PARTING GUN. 


71 


they should sail, a carriage drove up in front of 
Margaret’s house, and looking out of the window 
she recognized Johnson on the box beside the 
driver. 

Dressed in a white flannel yachting skirt, hid- 
den under a long English coat, she went to the 
door. 

“ If my aunt arrives before I return, tell her I 
have gone away for a few days,” she said to the 
servant, as she hastened down the steps to 
the carriage. 

At the depot she was met by Van Keever, 
Mrs. Motford and Hunter. 

“ Where is Miss Atwood ? ” Hunter asked Mar- 
garet. Van Keever answered quickly, 

“ She was called to Lenox suddenly ; her little 
nephew is ill.” 

Hunter had accepted Van Keever’s invitation 
with different anticipations. He had come to 
the depot alone, and the presence of Mrs. Mot- 
ford surprised him. Taking Van Keever aside, 
he said : 

“ Loo*k here ! Miss Beale will not stay one day 
aboard with that Motford woman.” 

‘‘ Oh, yes she will,” replied the other. “I’ve 
warned Bertie. She’s on her good behavior.” 

Hunter tried to argue more forcibly, but he 
was interrupted. 

“ Since when have you turned saint ? ” cried 
Van Keever, cynically. “This is a pleasure 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


party, not a reformer’s meeting. Above all 
things, my dear fellow, avoid the dangers of 
prudishness. If Bertie has promised to behave, 
I fancy you can stand it.” 

Only a short journey by rail was before them 
to bring them to the yacht’s anchorage. 

On the train Van Keever became serious. 

“ One reason I have in taking this cruise,” he 
said to Margaret, ‘‘ is that on the water I forget 
my troubles — I forget myself.” 

“What troubles?” Margaret asked. 

“ The time may come when I shall not have 
the power to move, when I shall be utterly help- 
less. The doctors have spared me no unpleasant 
truths, you see. A cheerful thing to bid a man 
wait for a living death, is it not ? ” Margaret 
tried to soothe him, but lie was as obstinate in 
his melancholy as he was determined in will. 

Mrs. Motford made the most of the short 
railway journey ; she sought to make friends 
with Margaret. 

“How sweet and fresh you look,” she said 
aloud ; but, of course, what women say aloud is 
generally the opposite of what they think, and to 
herself Mrs. Motford was saying : 

“That girl is ill; Van Keever knows it, and 
he hopes to restore her to health on his yacht, 
but he won’t do it. Men have sacrificed angels 
before, and lived to make love again over their 
graves.” 


THE PARTING GUN. 73 

“You have been living in Boston?” she asked 
Margaret. 

“Yes, I was learning to paint there,” replied 
Margaret. 

“ A very good place for art,” continued Mrs. 
Motford, “although one soon learns to paint in 
New York.” 

“ Have you learned ? ” asked Margaret, simply. 
Mrs. Motford nodded her head. 

“ Landscapes ?” pursued Margaret, with interest. 

“ No ; portraits, dear. The highest art ac- 
quirement in New York is to^ paint faces well.” 

“Ah ! that is very difficult,” observed Margaret, 
gravely. 

“ It is wonderful how soon one learns it, 
though,” continued Mrs. Motford. 

“ Then I suppose you paint in oils ? ” said 
Margaret. 

“No, dear, a little rouge, a powder puff, a 
pencil, and I can produce extraordinary effects in 
this way in a very few moments.” 

“Ah! but you need a peculiaily appreciative 
audience and a certain light to imake your art 
successful,” interposed Van Keevcr. 

“Yes; rival artists have told re e that I paint 
most effectively at night,” Mrs. Motford answered 
good humoredly. 

“There’s a picture!” cried Hunter from his 
seat across the aisle, as he waved his hand toward 
the window, 


74 her first adventure. 

The train was turning a long curve, and re- 
vealed a pretty landscape of field and farmland, 
with the changing colors of the sound waters in 
the distance. They could see the shore, and a 
little distance off was a large schooner yacht at 
anchor. 

Ah ! the Troubadour announced Van Keever, 
pointing to the yacht. Margaret strained her 
eyes to get a clearer view of the boat. 

“ I shall change her name and call her Mar- 
garet,” said Van Keever beside her ear. 

“You’re not going to fire that horrid gun be- 
fore we start,” interrupted Mrs. Motford. 

“ Not if you are threatened with hysterics,” 
replied Van Keever, dryly. 

“You dear, generous, considerate man,” said 
Mrs. Motford aloud ; but fortunately Van Keever 
could not read her secret comment, for it said : 

“You ugly, clumsy, vain idiot! Do you think I 
am blind and cannot see the motive of this trip. 
Actually, I am thrilled with a virtuous indigna- 
tion, a sensation I have not felt since I was first 
married.” 

Johnson entered the car to gather the hand- 
bags, rugs and numerous traps, as the train 
steamed up at the station. 

A short walk along a winding country road, 
which narrowed its dusty width to a lane where 
the grass grew unmolested by engineering or 
travel led to the water’s edge, and the yachting 


THE PARTING GUN. 


75 


party wended its way down this road, silently 
absorbing the freedom and purity of nature, for 
the expanse of field and woodland, with the 
smooth waters beyond, make town-bred people 
realize the poison of city life they have left behind. 

An unsteady little jetty extends from the 
beach, and at the end of it is a smart dingey, with 
soft cushions and rugs in the stern for the pas- 
sengers, while two sailors in blue jerseys with the 
word Troubadour worked in white across them, 
are seated ready to dip their oars. 

“ The Troubadour s chambermaid,” says Van 
Keever, jokingly, as the mate touches his cap and 
helps the ladies into the boat. 

“Your crew are too curious,” murmurs- Mrs. 
Motford to Van Keever, when she has arranged 
her skirts after she has been helped into the 
boat. 

“What can you expect if you will wear varie- 
gated hosiery,” Van Keever answers slyly. 

In a few moments they are gliding swiftly 
across the water, while Margaret dips her hand 
into the cool, bluish waves, and is amused in 
watching the miniature storm of white foam 
she creates on the surface. 

A narrow stairway is lowered from the ship’s 
side, and when the ladies have been assisted from 
the dingey to the deck by Hunter, Van Keever 
follows last. 

As he steps upon the deck a puff of white 


76 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


smoke is followed by the dull, heavy report of a 
cannon. The sound leaps from the bow of the 
boat, echoing from shore to shore, and as the gray- 
ish clouds of smoke clear away sails creak and 
strain against the breeze and the Troubadour 
moves slowly on. 

Margaret leans over the bulwarks in rapt ad- 
miration of the scenery. 

“For one week you are mine ! ” a voice whis- 
pers to her. 


CHAPTER X. 

EARLY MASS. 

The following morning dawn broke through a 
dull, leaden sky. 

A heavy mist gathered over the waves, in 
sullen masses of yellow shapes, and clung to the 
sides of the yacht, licking, writhing over her 
decks. So real, so tangible it seemed, that one 
might think to grasp it in the effort, only to find 
it steam, fading away, elusive, — a lesson in life. 

Owing to the fog the yacht was at anchor. 

Through the mist a wandering gull loomed— 
large, strangely distorted. The dark waves 
looked as though stretching weird, watery hands 
to the horizon, then sinking back into the depths 
dissatisfied. So weird the picture that a fisher- 


EARLY mass. 


11 


man passing in his boat might have (;lreaded to 
read on the yacht’s stern, in awful lettering, the 
name — Flying Dutchmmil ' — and to see a 
figure striding up and down her decks with silent 
footsteps — the phantom shape of Philip Van- 
derdecken. 

At seven o’clock there was no stir of life on 
the little yacht save the anchor watch, who 
lolled drowsily on the forecastle bulwarks. In 
the cabin all was very still. 

The saloon extended from amidships to the 
stern on the left of the stairway, taking in the 
full width of the yacht, and a mast came down 
through the centre. 

In defiance of the sturdy simplicity of its pur- 
pose, so well and amply visible above decks, 
however, it was gaudily decorated in filigree of 
white and gold, to harmonize with the decoration 
of the cabin below. At the extreme end was a 
piano screwed to the saloon deck. 

From the bottom of the companion way to its 
right, and extending from amidships to within 
half way of the forecastle w'as a narrow passage- 
way, and on each side of this corridor were the 
state-rooms, prettily fitted up with all modern 
conveniences; the berths being one above the 
other, a divan across one end of the little room. 

The doors could be left half open by means of 
a strong brass hook, and portieres of yellow silk 
were suspended across the entrances. 


yS" HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

The night being warm and close, even this pro- 
tection had been drawn a little aside, so that the 
corridor and the state-rooms opposite could be 
seen from the berths. The port-holes had been 
left half open, and the swirl of the water lapping 
the sides of the vessel awoke Margaret with a 
start. She raised herself on her plump, white 
arm and her eyes wandered from the leaden sky, 
just visible through the port-hole, to the cabin 
opposite where lay Van Keever. 

It was a hideous awakening into life. 

In the early morning light his face was stamped 
with the first signs of age, shown in the lines 
about the neck and eyes. 

In the berth above her she could hear Mrs. 
Motford breathing heavily. With one hand 
holding her muslin night-gown together about 
her throat, she raised herself still further 
forward to look with a strange fascination at 
the sleeping face of Van Keever. Putting one 
foot to the floor she listened ; Mrs. Motford still 
breathed regularly. She crept across the cabin ; 
the face drew her on — on, until she crossed the 
corridor and stood beside the sleeper, looking him 
full in the face. A mad fancy crossed her mind. 

From out the future she seemed to draw, to 
grasp, the features as they would look in age, 
twenty, thirty years from that July morning. A 
horror came over her. Before her feverishly 
active brain, another picture unrolled itself. 


EARLY MASS. 


79 


The man as she had first seen him. 

There arose that first impression, perfect in its 
entire revolting details. 

The eyes could no longer hold her now. 

They were closed — in dreams perhaps — but not 
of her ! Pray God not of her ! 

She trembled ; her hand, still holding the gown 
together, shook nervously ; then she quivered and 
sank down upon her knees and hid her face in 
her hands. 

Finding herself in the position of prayer, me- 
chanically her lips began to move. 

^‘Ave Maria, Ave Maria!' The formula re- 
peated itself over and over again, as at the con- 
vent ; unmeaningly the prayer had fallen from 
her lips. 

Her school-days come back to her ; she was 
at the house of the “ Sacred Heart.’’ Wearily 
she droned each prayer through the length of 
its ten beads, as she had done in the convent 
chapel on hot summer days. 

She prayed again to the Maker who had made 
him and his sad misshapen form. A tender 
sympathy rose in her heart. 

“O Thou of infinite power,” she prayed, 
“hear me now. I consecrate my life to this 
man’s; make him use it for the best. See now, 
— even before Thy throne, I cling to him, for 
life — until the end, in sickness and in death. 
When the living death shall come for him, and 


8o 


HER FIRST adventure. 


he is stricken helpless, let my devotion appeal for 
us both. Pity him, and pity me. Thou who hast 
worked miracles — the miracle of my truth and 
innocence, and the miracle of its defeat, hear 
me.” And then in a burst of tears, Margaret 
strained her eyes into space and her heart gave 
its last bitter, fleeting cry. 

“ I have wandered far from the shelter of 
Thine arms ; gather him more closely into them, 
that I may be saved through him — through him.” 

Minutes went by; an hour passed ; Margaret’s 
knees grew stiff, the muscles relaxed, she sank 
upon the floor. The shock of the fall startled 
her. The whole surrounding burst upon her, as 
a monstrous, hideous reality. She was mad. 
What had she been doing? Praying? 

What right had she to- pray? 

With sudden passionate impulse, leaning over 
him, she softly kissed the closed eyes. 

She reached her cabin dazed, stumbling, she 
knew not how, and fell prostrate, unconscious, on 
the floor. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ FLY-LOO. ” 

At one o’clock, everybody on board the 
Troubadour met at luncheon. It cost Mrs. 


“ FLY-LOO. 


8l 


Motford an effort to be in time. A^* it was, 
her toilet looked somewhat unfinished. A stray 
bath gown Johnson had handed her was hastily 
pulled over a cambric wrapper; her hair and face 
were “done.” They would have been attended 
to in case of shipwreck. Mrs. Motford’s head 
was Mrs. Motford’s religion, which came in 
the form of “ Morning Service,” — meditation at 
about five, and vespers at seven. She was more 
earnest, perhaps, than many people whose relig- 
ion was of a more strictly orthodox cast. 

Margaret was very quiet during the meal. 
Van Keever watched her furtively. She put 
aside all questions and offers to be treated as an 
invalid, by one answer: “No, please do not 
worry, I am quite well.” Her soft hair was 
drawn loosely back from her white temples, 
where the slender blue veins were visible. Her 
face was pale, and showed signs of mental strain. 
The remembrance of the early morning seemed 
to her as a dream, — a lurid dream. Mrs. Mot- 
ford complained of a headache. Whenever she 
felt a deficiency in her toilet, she always had a 
headache. Most women have. Van Keever 
kept her glass constantly filled, which meant a 
great deal. In a careless, unconscious way, she 
managed to absorb the contents of a glass 
before it seemed to touch her lips,— a proceed- 
ing with which Van Keever seemed quite famil- 
iar. 


82 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Before luncheon was over, Mrs. Motford's 
spirits had attained a pitch of hilarity not often 
to be met with, even at the black coffee stage of 
a political dinner in Washington. 

She had fallen into that mood when her past 
became a thing of absolute fascination to her. 
Pathetically, she related stories of her childhood’s 
days and of the trials and troubles, real or im- 
aginary, she had undergone by becoming Mrs. 
Motford. One by one, she added to the luxuries 
of her early home, — a home which, beginning as a 
modest frame dwelling, developed into a palatial 
mansion, standing in its own grounds. Van 
Keever seemed highly amused at the turn affairs 
had taken. He called to Johnson repeatedly, 
and bumpers were refilled, Mrs. Motford drink- 
ing hers as though it were a sad duty, yet not to 
be slighted ; while Van Keever and Hunter 
tossed theirs off as men would, who knew they 
were in a calm off Whitestone and not a tug in 
sight. 

Margaret had long since gone on deck, with a 
request that she should not be disturbed if she 
slept. From under the clear eye of her charge, 
Mrs. Motford expanded, becoming more confi- 
dential and retrospective every moment. 

The flies hovered in black clouds over the re- 
mains of the fruit. 

Van Keever took three lumps of sugar from a 
silver basin on the table, and putting them on 


FLY-LOO. 


83 


separate plates, handed them round, suggesting 
that they should choose their favorite liqueurs. 

Hunter laughed. 

“Fly-loo,’’ he said. “Great fun. Eh, Mrs. 

Motford ? ’* 

Mrs. Motford folded her arms, and looked re- 
flectively at the lump of sugar before her, and 
murmured, “maraschino.” Hunter took “ green 
Chartreuse.” Van Keever took Benedictine. 

Motionless, they watched their baits, as though 
the fate of nations depended on the result. Mrs. 
Motford’s milliner’s bill in Paris was up with 
Van Keever on the chance of a fly, who was 
creeping lazily between the two plates. To Van 
Keever, it meant a few dollars, lost or won. To \ 

Mrs. Motford, her milliner’s bill. 

The fly’s tiny head turned curiously each way, 
hesitating. Mrs. Motford’s spirits rose. Sud- 
denly, it noticed Hunter and his green Chartreuse, 
and its wiry little legs ran merrily across to him, 
in anticipation of a great treat. 

It carried away, on its ugly black back, Mrs. 
Motford’s latest account with “ Elise.” Yes; 
a dozen bonnets went capering off with its 
nimble feet. 

“ Beast ! ” muttered she, as the insect stood 
staring at Hunter. 

“ Good boy!” the hero of the green Chartreuse 
cried. 

Van Keever looked on quietly. He felt sure 


84 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


of the result. The fly wheeled about and ran 
straight to the Benedictine, in which it revelled 
for a moment, flew dizzily away, and returned to 
become gloriously unconscious of any other fly 
on earth. 

Van Keever had won. Ah! more flies than 
this in his web ! The game now lay between 
Mrs. Motford and Hunter. 

That lady’s star was in the ascendant ; the fly 
settled on her sugar and she won. 

The cabin grew hotter every minute, and a 
swarm of flies gathered drunkenly about the 
liqueurs^ and staggered up and down the sugar 
cliffs. One fell motionless into Mrs. Motford’s 
plump, white hand. A couple who had been 
good fly-friends buzzed noisily at each other and 
parted, one to remain motionless, the other to 
creep away, hesitate, look and come back, only 
to find himself forgotten. How like men and 
women, these ! The color left Hunter’s face as 
he said : 

“ It is close here,” and he put his hand to his 
head. 

“ Let us go on deck,” suggested Van Keever. 

Mrs. Motford swayed unsteadily as she rose, 
and they stumbled clumsily up the narrow com- 
panion way, while Johnson followed them closely. 

They found Margaret asleep. 

A slight breeze had sprung up. Mrs. Mot- 
ford, to amuse herself, threw pillows at Van 


fly-loo/’ 85 

Keever, which he laughingly dodged, as he 
said : 

Hunter, light a cigarette for Mrs. Motford.” 

But Hunter’s pride had fallen, and he no longer 
pretended to be in what is known as “good fettle.” 

“ I couldn’t,” he briefly remarked, “ not if my 
life depended on it.” 

The sailing master came aft. 

“There’s a fine wind risin’. It’ll be a nice 
sailing breeze pretty soon,” he said. 

“ Get her under way,” Van Keever answered, 
“ we’ve had enough of Whitestone for to-day.” 

“ Aye, aye, sir !— All hands up anchor I ” In 
ten minutes the little yacht was flying merrily 
across the water, — dashing the foam from her 
prow, over the party on the deck. One wave 
showered its silvery spray over Mrs. Motford’s 
bath gown. 

“ Whose is it ? ” she asked, as she lifted up 
the wet sleeve for Van Keever’s inspection. 

“ It was left on board a month ago, and 
has a history that would make a good plot for a 
novel.” 

“ Better tell it to Miss Beale,” Hunter sug- 
gested. “ I believe she writes, and she might do 
it up very gracefully and call it, ‘ The tale of a 
Bath Gown ! ’ Women can do that sort of thing 
better than men.” 

“ There won’t be much left to tell a tale of, if a 
few more of these waves splash over it,” Mrs. 


86 


HEll FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Motford exclaimed, as she bent far over the side 
of the vessel, and stared vacantly into the water. 

Hunter fell into a heavy doze. 

In leaning too far over, Mrs. Motford’s hat 
dropped overboard, and floated away. Suddenly, 
through the stillness, a woman’s voice trilled into 
a little, odd, old French chansonnette. 

She sat, bareheaded, singing — 

“ Avez-voiis vu le cha — le cha — 

Avez-voiis vu le peau — le peaUy 
Avez-vous vu le cha-a-peau — 

De Mademoiselle Zo-Zo ! ” 

The hat sailed away on the waves, a dainty 
nest for a wandering sea-bird ! 

'' Avez-vous vu le cha — le chaP the woman’s voice 
rang out. 

Avez-vous vu le peau — le peauP 

The song died brokenly away. The singer 
looked dreamily at Margaret. 

“ It is so hard,” she said, to be a chaperon,” 
and a tear rolled down her cheek. 

Her plump, pretty hand held her handkerchief, 
a cobweb trifle, over the railing. 

“ Be careful, or that will follow the chapeau of 
Mile. Zo-Zo,” Van Keever said, reaching for it. 

“ No ! leave it with me.” 

“ Well ! be careful then.” 

“Careful? — one would think I didn’t know 
what I was doing.” 


87 


“ FLY-LOO.” 

“ I didn’t say that.” 

“ But you think it,” angrily. 

No reply. 

“ Do you think it ? — do you ? ” 

Van Keever lit her a cigarette, for answer. 

She threw it into the water. Truly, some one 
besides the flies was suffering. 

The handkerchief followed the cigarette. 

“ Come now, Bertie, be sensible. This is 
downright wasteful ; wasteful ! ” 

“ Wasteful ? — ril show you ! ” 

The dressing-gown followed the handkerchief 
in its quick flight overboard. Van Keever turned 
his head away ; his indifference to her temper 
roused the now unreasonable woman to a pitch 
of frenzy. Seizing her shoe she cast it far out 
into the waves defiantly, wildly singing : 

“ Avez-vous vii le sou — le sou / 

Avez-vous vu le Her — le Her ? 

Avez-vous vu le sou-ou-lier — 

De Mademoiselle Zo-Zo I ” 

Hunter awoke ; these sounds confused him, and 
he wondered vaguely where he was. 

Margaret lay there with staring eyes. 

The other slipper flew after its mate, and with 
clenched hands, red with passion, the frantic 
woman began to tear the cambric wrapper off 
her shoulders. 

“Johnson,” called Van Keever, “ Mrs. Motford.” 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


S8 


Hearing her name,. she looked Van Keever in 
the face — something in his eyes held her. 

When Johnson appeared, she went below with 
him quite peacefully. She might do “scenes” 
for her friends ; for their valets, never ! 

Throwing herself carelessly on a sofa, she said, 
with an air of much nonchalance : 

“ The wind is too strong on deck.” 

As she raised her smelling salts, Johnson 
seemed to be rummaging in a cupboard for 
impossible things, and really was watching the 
companion way slyly, lest she should escape. 

His ruse did not deceive Mrs. Motford, though 
she smiled pleasantly at him. 

“ Great change in the weather, Johnson? ” 

Yes ; ma’am.” 

For the better, Johnson ? ” 

“ For the better, ma’am^ 


CHAPTER XII. 

FOR HIS SAKE. 

All day long there had been a threatening 
anger in the elements, and soon after the sailing 
master had given orders to proceed he was very 
much in doubt as to whether it would not be 
.safer to put into an inlet or harbor. 

It was a land breeze growing gradually into a 


FOR HIS SAKE. 89 

gale of strong proportions. The passengers on 
the yacht did not notice this, however. 

Margaret had seen everything that had passed 
on deck ; from Mrs. Motford’s solo to her igno- 
minious disappearance. Van Keever noticed that 
her eyes were open wide-awake. 

“ I hope you feel better,” he said ; will you 
come over here by me ? ” 

She did not stir. 

“ I might not interest you. I cannot favor 
you with the Chapeau of Mile. Zo-Zol' 

“ Oh, forget that ! Bertie has had a little too 
much luncheon, you know.” 

I might have expected this,” she continued. 

‘‘ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I knew you ^ould find me stupid,” she an- 
swered ; “ arid yet this cruise was arranged only 
that I might be with you.” She grew suddenly / 
pale. 

“ Are you ill .? ” he asked. 

‘‘No.” 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ** 

“ Yes.” 

“AVhat?” 

“ Take me back to town.” 

“ Why, we’re all going back in a couple of 
days. I have some business to attend to then. 
Anything else ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What ? ” 


90 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ Go away.” 

“Where to ? A yacht is a small place. Why 
do you want to land to-day? ” 

“ Why? Do you think I am blind?” 

He looked at her with a fixed gaze. 

Slowly she came to him. 

“ Do you think I shall be like that woman at 
thirty-five?” 

“ I hope not.” 

“ Did you will me to come to you ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I didn’t want to come — ” 

“ I knew it.” 

“ Sometimes I hate you.” 

“That’s why I like you.” 

“ In time you will have ceased — to care.” 

“You are morbid to-day; it is the weather, 
dear.” Then, after a pause: “How can I tell 
what our feelings will be in time to come ! 
only, I am sure you will never be like that 
woman.” 

“ What other way is there out of it ? ” she 
asked, bitterly. “ Women have pains to lose, to 
forget, as well as men ; their faults make them 
hard and reckless like her.” 

Some women are braver than others,” said 
Van Keever, seriously. “No life is impossible 
for a woman like 3/ourself. You are brilliant, 
handsome, young ; there is much happiness for 
you in the world if you choose it wisely.” 


FOR HIS SAKE. 


91 


" I cannot, while I think of you.” 

“Forget me!” he answered, as though mo- 
mentarily conscience urged him to regret the past 
and sacrifice himself in self-punishment. It was 
only momentary, however ; for like most men of 
the world his virtue * came in spasms, and came 
rarely. They were not dangerous, these spasms ; 
there was not sufficient agony in them to kill. 

He looked at Hunter to see if he still slept, 
and then kissed her. Words came to her lips, 
but she held them back ; she was growing wiser 
now. A horrible wisdom to learn, this, — a 
worldly woman’s wisdom ; the wisdom of check- 
ing impulsive thoughts, for craft, and leaving the 
heart quite out of the question. Tears sprang to 
her eyes. Listlessly, she picked up a book and 
bowed her head it. 

As Van Keever took it from her, the look of 
pain in her face escaped him ; even if it had not, 
what did he care ! Why should a man care that 
one woman was unhappy — was sorrowing? There 
were plenty more that seemed happy ones. Why 
should a man want tears of love, when he can 
get smiles — bought? 

The book she had been reading was Celia 
Thaxter’s “Sea Poems,” and on the fly leaf was 
traced in a school-girl hand, “ Convent of the 
Sacred Heart, New Orleans, Margaret Beale,” 
and below the name a few verses were, written. 

“Yours?” Van Keever asked* 


92 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ Oh yes, but written long ago at school ; I was 
younger then,” and she reached out her hand for 
the book. But Van Keever held it from her as 
he read aloud the lines — 

A Sea Song. 

“ I watch from my skiff the sea’s gray skies, 

The shore is still, no wild bird cries, 

I dream of a love that is coming to me ; 

Send him, O Mother, ‘ Star of the Sea ! ' 

“ The waves of Time o’er my fond heart break, 

My life is holy for one man's sake. 

For a love that is coming, that is to be ! 

How soon ? O, Mother, ‘ Star of the Sea.’ ” 

As Van Keever finished reading, Margaret re- 
mained motionless ; she had lost herself in the 
past. She had kept her life holy for his sake ! 
He was the man who had come. Involuntarily 
the words sprang from his lips: 

“ God ! how awful ! ” 

Between two of the pages a little ribbon lay to 
mark verses ; on it, in faint letters, was traced the 
word “ Elsie.” 

Van Keever looked at the marker inqiiiringly. 

“My sister’s name,” she said, briefly. “You 
may keep the book if you wish.” 

He took the marker and, putting it over the 
lines she had written, handed it back to her. 

“You might want to read the poem again 
some day,” he said. 


FOR HIS SAKE. 


93 


She took it. 

“ Which means that when you are tired of 
me I shall stake all again on some other man. 
No ! A woman can’t keep her life holy twice.” 

He pushed back her head and kissed her soft, 
fair throat. 

“ I will keep the book. It will always be a 
pleasure for me to look at it. It will make me 
feel that you belong to me.” 

She leant her cheek against his hand. 

“ It is too late to take back the gift. I do be- 
long to you — willingly or unwillingly, I belong 
to you.” 

Overhead little clouds crept together, weaving / 
black curtains, while the water grew rough and 
the boat lurched heavily. Van Keever’s iron 
grasp held Margaret from sliding along the deck, 
and he begged her to go below ; but she pleaded : 

“ Let me stay with you. I don’t want to go 
down in the cabin.” 

Van Keever dismissed the quarter-master, who 
was steering, and took the helm himself. The 
man touched his cap and went below. 

The waves dashed in Margaret’s face; her hair 
had fallen wet on her shoulders and blew across 
Van Keever’s lips. 

He kissed it, as a black wave hissed over 
them. 

The fury of the storm came upon them with 
a sudden burst. 


94 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“All hands slack sheets,” shouted Van Keever, 
as he put the helm hard down. 

The canvas flapped and rustled, and the blocks 
creaked as the little yacht, relieved from the 
press of sail, labored up in the wind. As she 
came up, a mountain of water crashed over her 
decks, carrying away the quarter boat. 

Margaret clung to Van Keever, drenched. 

The rain began beating mercilessly down. 

Margaret watched Van Keever s face, 
set in a grim determination, giving him the 
fierce look of an angry mastiff. The vio- 
lence of the squall increased ; with danger, per- 
haps death, staring them in the face, she was 
calm. 

Van Keever’s voice reassured her. 

The scene of the afternoon was swept aivay 
from her mind by the waves. She was facing 
danger, and with the man who was closer to her 
than all other men. 

The yacht reeled and plunged between two 
seas. 

Johnson staggered forward, and carried her 
below forcibly. She knelt in the companion 
way, within Van Keever’s call. 

Mrs. Motford screamed to her from the far end 
of the cabin, 

“ Pray for me ! come to me ! help me ! pray 
for me ! ” but Margaret answered her, roughly : 

“ I can’t help you ; pray for yourself.” 


THE EBB TIDE. 95 

Hunter strove, in his excited way, to calm and 
comfort the two women. 

Suddenly the vessel stood on end; then, with a 
roar of the waves, it sank in the trough of the 
sea. 

Looking up Margaret saw the place at the 
wheel — vacant. Crawling up the steps, she 
dragged hfcelf upon the deck. Her hands 
groped in the darkness ; he was there ! 

“ Thank God ! Thank God ! ” She would 
not be left to live with his life struggling itself 
out in the sea. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE EBB TIDE. 

Mrs. Maitland had not arrived when Mar- 
garet returned to town. Her system had been 
severely shocked by the experiences of the 
storm, and although many days had passed in 
feverish delirium, under the care of a trained 
nurse, since the Troubadour was towed into 
Whitestone, disabled and crippled as its owner, 
she was permitted one morning to read a note 
from him. 

“ My Darling : 

“ I hear you have been seriously ill, but the servant brings 
news that you are better this morning. 1 leave to-morrow 


96 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


for a last sail on the Troubadour. The doctors have 
warned me again, and I feel that on the water I may forget 
my fate. When I return I expect to find you entirely well. 

“ Till then, 

‘‘ Yours, 

“ R. Van Keever.'’ 

She had been expecting to see him, to feel his 
touch, during the rational intervals of her sickness 
each day. The egotism of his note, and the al- 
most indifferent reference to her own trouble es- 
caped her notice. 

It was a sudden joy to receive even a letter 
from him — too sudden for her delicate condition, 
and a relapse followed, during which she lay al- 
most unconscious for three weeks. 

The young doctor who attended her, in obedi- 
ence to her wishes, wrote nothing of Margaret’s 
illness to her mother. She was safe yet, she 
thought, and there would be time enough. 

One morning, for the first time since her ill- 
ness, Margaret picked up a newspaper and 
glanced over it. It was filled with accounts 
of a cyclone on the water — those depths in 
which she had so nearly found her death. She 
shuddered at the remembrance. Then, suddenly, 
her thoughts flew to Van Keever; fascinated she 
read on : 

“ Wrecks of several vessels have drifted ashore I 
Among those missing is the schooner yacht 
“ Troubadour; ” Owner — Robert Van Keever ! ” 


THE EBB TIDE. 97 

With set face and rigid grasp, she held fast to 
the paper and read on : 

Further details of the storm at sea.” 

The paragraphs were written with terrible 
power of description and prolonged, cruel detail ; 
written, doubtless, by a journalist who was master 
of the ‘cunning of his craft. If she could but 
look into Van Keever’s life — but see him now; 
was he drifting away, helpless, far out to sea? 

She fancied she could see the waves washing 
over him — moving his body to and fro — rolling 
and tumbling it in their ghastly play. It was 
horrible.! 

Of all deaths, it seemed most *sad and aban- 
doned to her. He had faced it once by her side 
— but alone I why had he gone back? 

She sent a note to his brother, asking what 
news he had heard, 'and waited all day for the 
answer. None came. That was on Monday. 
On Wednesday, at five o’clock, a servant brought 
a card to her. ^ As she reached for it her hand fell 
helpless at her side. She dreaded to look at it. 
The small square of card-board might be a death 
warrant. She stared blindly at it. The small 
lettering swanrtefore her eyes. 

Mr. James Van Keever.” 

His brother 1 

Yes, it was the death warrant. He was dead 
or he would have been with her. 


98 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


How still and lifeless seemed the day. Life 
must be kept busy and eventful for her now that 
he was dead. 

There came to her the memory of a friend of 
hers, whose husband was brought home killed. 

At the time she had wondered how it must 
seem to be a widow. Now she knew. She was 
a widow, too, only her widowhood was a nameless 
one. She could not claim the world’s pity, 
because it must never know her grief. It was 
easy to bear the grief the world knew of, but it 
was hard to have the living dead about you — 
dead whom you could not bury, because the 
world must never know they are dead to you. 

She put her hands to her throbbing head and 
looking up, saw that a man stood on her thresh- 
old. She read the message in his face — no 
hope. 

How much he looked like Robert — like his 
brother — curiously alike about the forehead and 
mouth ; she caught herself wondering if the 
mother’s forehead was like his, where the hair 
grew from the temples. He was not handsome, 
this brother ; she was glad of that. The mother 
could not have loved him more than the other. 

They were not fine men, these two sons of 
hers. The mother must know it, but then they 
were hers — her boys — that made the difference. 

“ IF word had been sent from your brother you 
would be the first to know,” she said. 


THE EBB TIDE. 


99 


“ Yes. No word has been sent yet,” he 
answered, “ but we hope — that is, my mother 
hopes, to hear some favorable news to-day.” 

“ Do you think she will ? ” 

“ No ; I hope the yacht was sea-worthy when 
he sailed in her; he had great faith in the builder 
who overhauled her after a gale she was in a few 
days ago. 

A gale ? Oh yes, she could tell him of that 
gale — of that storm that would not take them 
both together, but waited. Even death is cruel 
often times. 

Suddenly she remembered that the man before 
her was a perfect stranger to her, and she had 
not even asked him to sit. She pushed a chair 
forward. 

“ But for one moment,” he said. “ I must go 
to the mother.” Looking down in her lap, she 
saw a package of letters lying there. 

“ They are from you ; I found them at his 
place — among some papers,” he said. 

Margaret took one of- them up mechanically, 
and her eyes met these words, in the middle of a 
page. 

“ I have no courage to live for myself. I have 
to live my life out through you. See through 
your eyes, think your thoughts. I cannot ask 
you to pity me — you of all men.” She looked 
up. 

I know,” the brother said. 


lOO 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Trembling, she held out her hand to him, 
and nature’s great friendly twilight covered them 
both. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE ANGELUS! 

New York was just astir, when Margaret awoke 
on the morning following the report of Van 
Keever’s death. Above the noise and murmur of 
the streets, sounding clear and distinct in the first 
breath of morning air, the church bell of a 
Catholic chapel doled out in quick, sharp 
monotones the invitation to prayer, the call to 
early mass. There was no soft harmony or 
sacred melody in its ring ; it was the religious 
alarm, catching sinners before they had time to 
forget confession, calling them to kneel with a 
priest before they entered the snares of worldly 
toil and pleasure. 

Margaret listened to' it for some time. At 
first it sounded like a ship’s bell tolling the 
watches ; then her thoughts flew to the painful 
recollection of love’s widowhood, and then her 
whole life'seemed dull and empty as she realized 
that he was dead. 

Her light of love had gone out ; she must wander 
on in the dark shadow of her secret, a bondswoman 
chained to the dead. 


THE ANGELUS ! IQ I 

Was this love ? she thought. 

Was this all the reward ? Did women laugh, 
and envy and wait and yield their lives to this 
all seeing love, only to suffer like this ^ 

Had her mother ever felt as wretched, she 
wondered. Then an angel-thought in her 
mother’s face shed a glorious, gentle light upon 
her mind, as if from a rent in the skies it shone 
straight from the Throne of Grace. 

“ Love is shame sometimes,” the mother-angel 
murmured, “but temptation comes to all, its sins 
can be cleansed by repentance.” 

With quick, short, hollow reiteration of clang- 
ing sound the bell seemed to come nearer, till in 
fancy it hung over her bed and cried with its 
clear, brazen voice : 

“Re — pent! Re — pent! Re — pent!” 

The bell had ceased ringing, when, a few hours 
later, Margaret went out into the street and after 
a short walk entered the Convent of the Ascension. 

The lay sister at the door led the way into the 
parlor, and went in search of the Mother Supe- 
rior. Presently she stood in front of her again. 
What an unearthly way these women had of glid- 
ing about ! 

“ The Reverend Mother is very busy just now ; 
is it important that you should see her to-day ? ” 

“Yes. Please tell her. Sister — ” 

“ Sister Angeline,” interrupted the little nun, 
excitedly. It was such an event, to show some 


102 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


one in from the outside world. It was always 
an epoch in her life. 

“ Thank you, Sister. Will you tell the Re- 
verend Mother, from me — Margaret Beale — 
that I wish to see her about receiving instruc- 
tions? I — I — wish to enter the church.” 

“ I will indeed, with oh, such happiness ! Are 
you a convert then ? ” 

“ I hope to be.” 

Our Blessed Lady sends us many such.” At 
this moment a few people came into the convent 
parlor from the chapel. ‘‘ Will you come with 
me, Miss Beale?” 

Margaret followed the sister into a small, bare 
room. 

“ I brought you here that you might talk 
quietly,” said the little nun, as she fluttered 
away to hasten the Mother. To save souls one 
should hurry ! 

Left to herself, Margaret looked about the 
room. The floor was bare ; the pine boards 
white and spotless. Beside a deal table a plaster 
cast of St. Joseph stood within a niche. About 
the place little images of saints in gayly colored 
robes were grouped. 

Margaret had spent two years of her life in a 
convent. 

Not that she was a Catholic, but because the 
education and care of the brave, disciplined nuns 
made good and clever women. 


THE ANGELUSl 


103 


There are exceptions to this, but they are rare ; 
so rare, in fact, as to make these exceptions truly 
noteworthy. 

How this room brought bade the past, the 
convent past, to Margaret. The oft said prayers, 
her favorite teacher. Sister Louise of the Cross, 
and the ugly nun who scolded — Sister Veronica 
— and Father Paul, who, having solemnly prom- 
ised not to convert her, contented himself by 
giving her his rosary, and asking her prayers to 
the Blessed Lady, for the world’s return to the 
true faith, and the further good of his soul. 
H ow the little room brought back the mood of 
those days: the ‘girlish ambitions she had cher- 
ished then ; the time when her first verses and 
stories were written : of her mother’s joy in 
reading her rhymes ; and how she had cherished 
the dream of writing a book, a first book, and 
wondered how her thoughts would look in print ; 
and when it should be done, her mother would 
softly cry as she saw its dedication,” “ To my 
mother,” and the tale should be of love — great 
love— tender love — the love a mother has for 
her child. She looked about her. Was it all to 
end in this ? Was it not sinful to bring the ruins 
of life to God, because the beauty had been 
taken from it by a creature of his own creation ? 
And was it renunciation? — what had she to re- 
nounce? There was, at least, more peace in a 
convent among God’s women than in the world 


104 first adventure. 

of women like her. The Mother Superior 
came in, a tall, sweet-faced woman with the habit- 
ual smile of the nun. As she held out her hand, 
an untimely thought came to Margaret of having 
heard it said : but two classes of women smile 
through life, it being taught them with their 
avocation, the nun and the dancer. Margaret 
shook off the wicked thought with a shudder. 
Ah ! it is when we try most to be good that such 
ideas come to us. The Mother Superior drew a 
hard, pine chair close to her visitor and seated 
herself. 

“ Sister Angeline,” she began, “tells me that you 
wish to talk of receiving instruction with a view 
to joining the church. Who sent you to us ? ” 

“ I — I — hardly know. I came.'’ Could she tell 
this holy woman her lover had been the cause of 
her visit ? 

“Strange! You have been brought up a 
Protestant?” asked the Reverend Mother. 

“Yes, but I was at a convent in New Orleans 
for two years, although not a Catholic. I had a 
wish to be at the time ; but my mother and fam- 
ily opposed it, and afterwards, when I had the 
power to follow my own wishes more fully, I 
seemed to have grown out of the idea.” 

“ Ah, yes,” — the Mother shook her head. “ I 
see ! other influences were brought to bear ; 
other surroundings worked the change. At 
which convent were you in New Orleans?” 


THE ANGELUS ! 


105 


“At the Convent of the Sacred Heart.’' 

“ Ah, yes,” — the Mother’s face lit up. “ They 
have a lovely place there, truly ! They will be 
happy to know that your future life is turning 
back to its early teaching. If you will come to 
me to-morrow at this time, I will let you know 
at what hour you can receive instruction ; and I 
think now of a Sister who will take a delight in 
helping you. She has a vocation for converts. 
Indeed, she will be very happy.” 

'' Ave you happy?” The words forced them- 
selves from Margaret’s lips. The Reverend 
Mother looked at her in grave surprise. “The 
peace of God,” she began, “and faith in his prom- 
ises” — The set phrases died away^ on her lips at 
the look of utter weariness in the face of her list- 
ener. 

“ I don’t think I meant that,” the girl said ; “ I 
meant, are you in peace ? ” 

“ Life is busy here, for me, at all times. 
The life of a religious is not an easy one, but I 
can truly say, I find peace; great peace, — the 
peace o^ God which passeth all understanding.” 

“I am looking for that peace, joo,” Margaret 
half whispered. “ Help me ; if I can believe, as 
I pray to do, I may yet find tli^* way to your 
happiness.” 

“If God sent you a vocation for this life,” an- 
swered the Mother, “ He will give you the faith 
to follow it. Were you content at the convent?” 


I06 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

“ Yes ; I was happy, then.” 

“ Are you not happy now?” 

“No!” 

“ Have courage, my child. God will lighten 
your burden. Will you come into the chapel to 
ask our dear Lord’s blessing on this undertak- 
ing?” 

Together they passed through the door — the 
nun and the girl ; the mother and the daughter : 
the mother long since dead to suffering ; the 
daughter, her heart inflamed with misery. Both 
women; both thinking to live without the 
heart. A little shell-shaped dish fastened against 
the side of the wall held holy water, and in it 
lay a sponge — that the font might never be dry. 
Standing behind the Mother, Margaret noticed 
how deeply she sunk her white fingers in the 
sponge, that she might reach the precious 
water. 

Passing onward, they knelt on the hard 
ground side by side. What histories these two 
could tell 1 What a story of crushed hopes and 
iron bound discipline told itself in the prayerful 
face of the mother. She had conquered this 
mystery called life, with as strong faith in a here- 
after as a mother has in the goodness of her 
children. The woman beside her had it all to 
learn. The nun prayed with unmoved lips ; but 
Margaret murmured to herself, as she bowed her 
head low, and yet lower : — 


THE CONVENT. 


107 


“Lord, I believe! Help thou mine unbelief.” 
A smell of incense was in the place. A clock 
counted out the hour: one hour nearer eternity 
for the world ; one hour nearer heaven for the 
nun. For the infidel — one hour nearer the end. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CONVENT. 

Two weeks had passed in religious contem- 
plation since Margaret knelt before the convent 
altar. During the whole period she was alone, 
her aunt, being unavoidably detained— busied in 
household cares. 

To an extent, Margaret had already yielded to 
the influence’ of the convent, for she read only 
those books recommended by the nun whom she 
was with almost every day. 

She sent one last letter to James Van Keever, 
saying that there need be no answer, if there was 
no news. The letter was one, more of condo- 
lence than of injury ; no word came from him. 
The sea gave back no answer. She looked at no 
papers, nor tortured her mind with hopes or fears, 
but buried that part of her life deep down in 
her heart. One Sunday, %he was asked to spend 
^ the day at the country retreat of the Convent of 
Ascension, and she went. 


IC8 ' HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

How wonderful it seemed to her, this monas- 
tery of women’s lives, this beautiful monument of 
faith, not defying love of the world but waiting 
till experience had brought its stings, till love had 
ruined and crippled some woman too gentle to 
withstand the cunning theories and fashions of 
the world ; ever ready waiting were these women 
with prayers, and penitence, with incense and 
altar, to make .all women sisters in chastity and 
fajth. 

Summer was passing away, and it was one of 
those glorious days that like gorgeous heralds 
follow the pageant of harvest and fruits to cry 
out, ‘‘ Remember what has gone by ; it will cheer 
you when that cold, heartless ^vinter comes.” 

How peaceful it all seemed. What might not 
a few weeks spent here in absolute quiet, do for 
her? She would ask the Mother Superior. 
Down a narrow walk, roughly paved, where the 
dreary age had been assailed by the fresh, young 
grass and soft moss peeping between the stones, 
she saw the nun, one hand upon the little cruci- 
fix that hung suspended from her neck, the other 
holding a prayer book. Her head was bent over 
its pages, and shafts of golden sunlight struggled 
th rough the thick foliage and made an even stair- 
way of light amid the heavy shade. 

She looked up whem Margaret asked her the 
question. With pleasure ; the sisters would be * 
glad to shelter her sorrow, to nurture her heart 


THE CONVENT. 


109 


during its pain in the quiet sacred walls of the 
retreat. That night she returned to town, and 
made hasty preparations to enter the convent for 
a while. Thoughtfully, she wrote to her mother, 
giving but a slight explanation of her intentions. 
“ In a few weeks,” she wrote, “ I shall be with 
you. I have much to tell you that I cannot 
easily write.” Yes, some things are better told 
than written. It is a serious matter, I realize, 
when mother and daughter choose separate paths 
to God.” 

She touched lightly upon her frequent visits to 
the convent, but -said nothing of the retreat in 
store for her. A letter was also dispatched to 
her aunt, telling her that it was better that she 
should remain where she was for the present ; as 
she had been so long delayed in coming, it was 
quite as well to wait and join her in the country 
with her mother. Then the pain of putting all 
dainty girlish things away ; all unnecessary toilet 
trifles, — she had grown to have a distaste for them 
now. She was done with them — as the world 
seemed now. The dress baskets held gowns she 
might never see again ; and these, the Indian mull 
night robes, the delicate lace petticoats, the cob- 
web silk stockings, these were all to be folded 
away, as the clothes might be of some one who 
had just died, and the time had come for 
their reminders to be hidden from sight. There 
is no time in life for the dead ! 


no 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


A picture fell from the tray of a trunk. It 
was of the woman who held it in her hand, but 
a picture taken in another life. A smiling girl’s 
face looked out from the likeness. The arms 
were uncovered, and a leopard’s skin was 
wrapped around her, showing glimpses of bare 
shoulders. It had been a fancy of the artist to 
pose her in this way, for a delicate pastel he 
had made of her. She carried the picture to the 
furthest corner of the room, and sitting down 
looked fixedly at it. 

The color came and went in her face as 
she gazed. The woman who looked at her 
from the picture had laughing eyes, and a smile, 
a careless happy smile, about the mouth. She 
tore the likeness into pieces, and held its edges 
in the flame of the gas, till the card-board curled 
up and smouldered slowly away. The purple 
paper, half colored with flame, fell from her 
hand to the floor. One of her fingers was 
scorched. The embers of the picture gave t.heir 
last flicker before death, and the carpet catching 
the blaze, smouldered in ever increasing rings of 
fire. The startled woman ran for a cloak that 
lay across a chair, and throwing it over the 
smoke pressed it down with her hands, hur- 
riedly, burning them still more. When the fire 
was quite out, she threw the cloak aside and 
looked at her singed hands. “ So love and youth 
cost,” she said. The black scraps on the carpet 


THE CONVENT. 


Ill 


wavered in the heated air, and blew away. 
“ How different from what I look now,” she 
murmured. 

* * * * * * 

At last every trunk was packed. There were 
five in all. Why should a woman have five 
trunks ! One was enough, and that of the plainest 
kind. Ah ! what a sway the present time had 
over her. Was it a religion? Was it a mood ? 
Was it trying to get nearer to God — or to escape 
from herself? The gas flickered low. The light 
of the candle died out, as the lid was closed on the 
last trunk. The jnemory of one Margaret Beale 
seemed to her to die away, too. Would she 
awaken to life ?— or to a living death ! 

Picking up a prayer book, she opened it at tbe 
litany. It was better to read this prayer of a 
merciful death, than to speculate on what might 
follow. It was a special litany, contained in all 
CathoUc prayer books. 

She read a part of it : “ When my imagina- 

tion, agitated by dreadful spectres, shall be sunk 
in an abyss of anguish ; when my soul, affrighted 
with the sight of my iniquities and terror of 
-Thy judgments shall have to fight against the 
angel of darkness who will endeavor to conceal 
thy mercies from my eyes, and to plunge me into 
despair.” 

(The Response) “ Have mercy on me ! ” » 

When my poor heart — ” 


1 12 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

She put the book down for the night. Her 
heart could feel no litany now ; it had yielded to 
idolatry and as the idol had been destroyed, her 
love and faith were crushed. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

‘^ETE, MISSA EST.’' 

The days of the retreat went by almost 
peacefully. The morning sun shone on a narrow, 
stone-paved path on which the sisters were in 
the habit of walking daily, and here Margaret 
spent much of her time. By every kind and 
loving care, these women, living lives of sacrifice, 
tried to infuse a little brightness into the life 
newly come among them. She had asked for a 
fortnight’s retreat, and on the following Monday, 
when that time would have come t9 an end, she 
intended to leave for her home, that she might 
tell her family of her plans. She dreaded the 
waking into life that would be forced upon 
her in making this journey, now only three days 
off. Fasting and wakefulness were telling on her, 
and on Sunday morning she awoke feeling very 
ill. However, she arose early and was told that 
Mrs. Maitland was waiting to see her in the parlor. 
She welcomed her aunt quietly, as a being from 
another world. Mrs. Maitland hid her face in 


113 


'‘ETE, MISSA EST/ 

her handkerchief and sobbed brokenly. It is a 
terrible thing to see a woman of sixty cry. It 
seems that at that age, the troubles and tragedies 
of life should be over. So thought Margaret, 
as the sight of her aunt’s grief broke down the 
mental barrier that had made itself felt between 
them. 

“Don’t, dearie,” she begged, “don’t, aunt. 

I can’t bear to see you like this! ” and dropping 
her head on her aunt’s shoulder the two women 
sobbed in each other’s arms. A priest put his 
head inquiringly in at the door, peered about, drew 
back, and walked up and down the narrow corri- 
dor, looking from under his downcast eyelids, 
each time he passed the glass panelled entrance 
to’ the parlor. 

Mrs. Maitland was the first to regain her com- 
posure. She gently stroked her niece’s bright 
hair, and listened to the weary sound of her sob- 
bing. 

“ Margaret,” she said, “ I believe you are ill ; 
you, look wretched and feeble; come back to 
the hotel with me. How could you write me not 
to join you 1 This idea of not wanting your own 
about you is morbid. I trust that there never 
will come the time when we shall be separated, 
at least not until you are married.” 

“Ah! but aunt dear, there will come such a^ 
time, and soon too; but don’t let us speak of that 
now.” The little gray-haired lady, a lady that 


1 14 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

we, of no school at all, call “ of the old school,’' 
— a lady from the toe of her boot to the majes- 
tic lavender tip of her bonnet — looked round the 
room disapprovingly. 

“ How long have you been here ? ” 

“Two weeks, nearly.” 

“Child, child! no wonder you look pale; and 
what ever drove you to this place is more than I 
can conceive. I am not here to reproach you. 
We all have,” said the old lady mysteriously, 
“our faults. You shall come back to town with 
me and we will forget and forgive.” 

Margaret drew away from her aunt. “ I cannot 
understand,” she said, passionately, “why I 
should be treated as though I had committed 
some crime, in coming here. I leave for home To- 
morrow, that my mother may be told what I in- 
tend to do. Till then I shall remain here, except 
to go to St. Francis Xavier’s church, this morn- 
ing. I will meet you wherever you like after 
the Mass, on my way back.” 

Mrs. Maitland looked at her with a sweet 
smile, and kept the tears back. She knew 
her niece too well not to instantly change her 
manner. “Very well, my dear ; but I couldn’t 
think of meeting you after the — service. I am 
not a bigoted woman. .1 will go with you my- 
self, and then you must^ave a bit of luncheon 
with me and we’ll talk it all over.” 

Reluctantly, she assented, and together they 


“ETE, MISSA EST.” 


115 


took the train, and were soon passing up the aisle of 
one of New York’s loveliest churches — St. Fran- 
cis Xavier’s.” Margaret felt ill on the train, and 
by the time the church was reached, she was glad 
to lay her head in her hands, and rest — only to 
rest. She could not pray to-day ; for some reason 
her mind was untuned to prayer. 

How strong the smell of incense 1 Impassively 
she listened to the Mass, the one, beautiful, 
grand, awful thing left us on earth ; the one thing 
the pollution of the nineteenth century let pass. ^ 
In its inviolateness lies its spell. The voices of 
countless ages intoning the surging waves of 
its cadences to the Holy Trinity of faith, as 
they had done to the Trimusti of our Aryan 
Forefathers, to the sun gods of Chaldea, Egypt, 
Phoenicia, Greece and Rome. So long as the 
incense floated in the air and men and women 
knelt, what matter to whom. The sea of the 
Mass bringing on its tide canticles of unutterable 
beauty, upturned faces of martyrs, who live 
but in the glory of their names, the vaporous 
clouds of billowing incense mingled their shapes 
and formed a smoky dome above the heads of 
the people. Mrs. Maitland secretly pressed her 
violet scented handkerchief to her nostrils. Mar- 
garet, kneeling by her side, looked waxy white, 
the color of a candle on an altar near by ; her lips 
were pale, and a burning fever gleamed in her 
cheeks. Her eyes had the brilliancy of light on 


Il6 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

water. The prayer book she held seemed to her 
fancy to -vary its shape in her swelled hands. 
Where was she? The time and place seemed 
slipping from her, and racking pains darted 
through her limbs. From far above, the choir 
burst into the “ Credo in uniim Deiim patreni 
Omnipotenteni Factorem Coeli et terrae!' Ah ! 
she was in church ; she remembered now. The 
sacrifice had reached the supreme moment — the 
adoration, the elevation of the Sacred Host. A 
hush fell upon the kneeling people ; all heads 
were bent save those of strangers to the creed 
and Margaret’s. She watched with unnaturally 
gleaming eyes the sun rayed Pyx, as it was 
raised aloft by the priest. Was it the host he 
held before her? No ! not the host — a boat ! a 
boat ! she could see it plainly, she told herself, 
and it was covered with sea weed, and green, 
glistening slime, and the boat rested in space ! 
Its oars drifted — drifted away ; a man clung to 
its side. See, see ! now he rises, and gains a 
hold! If but the boat would right itself! He 
climbs to the keel, and his face is the wet face of 
Van Keever. The waves gathered up and lifted 
their watery fingers, with foam for the nails, to 
push him back and laugh little, hollow, lap- 
ping laughs of ripples that break over him ! He 
falls back, but gains the boat again, and it swirls 
around with him till he loses his grasp; and sinks 
down — down — down — into — the altar ! 


WHAT IS LOVE? 


II7 

No, no,” she moaned out, “ why should he 
follow me here? Her aunt, startled, shook her 
by the shoulder, but she whispered — “ Look ! 
He’s sinking in the waves.” She fell to the bench 
and they carried her in delirium to the vestry 
room beyond. She now lost complete sense of 
her surroundings. All grew dark around her. 
Greatly alarmed, Mrs. Maitland ordered that a 
carriage be summoned. The sufferer was assisted 
to it and they drove rapidly to the Hotel Salars, 
where Margaret was put to bed and a nurse sent 
for. So it was that Margaret Beale did, 
after all, stay in town with her aunt. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

WHAT IS LOVE? 

Dr. Werner was a specialist on nervous 
diseases. A man with clear, deep set eyes, a 
tall, graceful figure with a certain latent strength 
in his movements. A man whose knowledge 
and practice had made him a stern philosopher, 
a fair and honest judge of human nature and an 
admirer of character. 

The autumn was fast shifting into winter, but 
in his cosy study the seasons were defied, for 
the warm, cheery fire only increased the 
pleasures of winter, and the little alcoved con- 


Il8 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

servatory, lighted with the red glow from crimson 
globes, maintained the verdure of spring, the 
perfume of summer. A knock at the door 
interrupted his reverie and a servant announced 
Dr. Scudder. 

The latter was a young man, just building up 
a practice in the same field as the great specialist. 
“ Glad to see you ! ” he said, as the younger man 
entered brusquely and sat down. 

“Doctor, I am here for advice,” he said 
abruptly. 

“ My consultation hours are over, but if your 
case is urgent — ” 

“It is important: it means life or death.” 
Dr. Werner flipped the ashes of his cigar 
into the grate and raised his eyebrows sceptically. 
These young men were so impetuous, they rushed 
at conclusions so hastily. 

“Two months ago, I was at dinner,” began 
Dr. Scudder, “ when a colored boy brought me 
a message. I recognized him at once as coming 
from patients of mine, a family living in Madi- 
son Avenue. I was urgently wanted. 

“ ‘ Who is ill ? ’ I asked the boy ; ‘ one of the 
family ? ’ 

“ ‘ No ; a young lady, a visitor at the house,’ 
he told me. I went over at once and found a 
young girl, left quite alone in the absence of 
an aunt, whom she had been expecting. The 
patient seemed to be suffering from exhaustion. 


WHAT IS LOVE? 


119 


as though she had undergone some mental shock. 
I attended her for a week. Just as she was 
showing signs of growing better, she sent me a 
note, dispensing with any further attendance 
and saying she now felt quite well and would 
leave town shortly. Two months from that time, 
as I was passing the church of St. Francis Xavier 
I saw a woman being half led, half carried from 
the steps by an elderly lady and the sexton of 
the church.” 

Werner touched the ash of his cigar upon a 
little brass Moorish tray. There was a quiet smile 
on his face, as he said, inquiringly, “Your 
patient again ? ” 

“ Yes. Since then I have been in constant 
attendance upon her. She has been at the point 
of death with brain fever.” 

“ Dangerous illness ; in her delirium you 
learned something of the causes, I presume,” 
said the older physician. 

“Yes; a curious story it was, too, and I 
verified it in a roundabout way by a certain 
woman, whose name she constantly repeated.” 

“ You found this woman ? ” 

“Yes; she happened to be the wife of an old 
college mate of mine — Mrs. Motford. The facts 
of the case are these. When I first attended 
the young lady, she, instead of having returned 
from a visit to Boston, as was supposed in 
the house, had been on board a yacht, and I 


120 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


judge, had suffered much from exposure in a 
storm. 

“ Quite curious," murmured Dr. Werner. 

“ Her aunt apparently knew nothing of this 
trip, for from her I learned that since the day I 
had first attended her, till the morning I saw 
her on the church steps, she had been in the 
retreat of a convent." 

“Then you told the aunt nothing of your 
surmises?" asked Werner. 

“ No, for the girl in her rational moments 
implored me to say nothing." 

“ She was conscious that her delirium betrayed 
her?" 

“ Evidently." 

“ Is she a girl of good reputation ?" inquired 
Werner, sceptically. 

“ Her family is excellent, and her face and 
manner denote refinement." 

“You have your suspicions of the cause ? " 

“ More than suspicion. She has been the 
victim, I believe unwillingly, of some man’s de- 
ception." 

“ I thought so," Werner threw his cigar into 
the grate. “The convent episode proves it," he 
said. “They always do that. I believe a 
woman is better dead than in a convent, — an 
institution devised by oriental tyranny and fanat- 
icism for ruining the health of women by penning 
them up. Two classes of women hurl themselves 


WHAT IS LOVE? 


I2I 


out of the world through the gates of a convent : 
the woman with a past, and the woman with no 
future; one who has suffered through the heart, 
and one who has never been tempted. It is no 
virtue to me ” — and the doctor lit a fresh cigar, 
— “ to give your life to God because you be- 
lieve no man wants it. My sister became a 
nun,” Werner continued, gravely. “ Oh ! if I 
could only tell you. Poor Mary ! poor dear Mary ! 
She found out too late that her idol was clay, 
mere clay. I beg- your pardon.” He looked 
inquiringly at the younger man, who was staring 
into the fire, made up of small hickory and elder 
logs. “ But you didn’t come for this, did you? 
Go on with your story ; it interests me.” 

“ Dr. Werner, if this were all I should not ask 
your advice. This woman, clever, brilliant, pos- 
sessing capabilities of a high order, loves or 
fancies she loves, a hopelessly deformed cripple ; 
a man who seems to me, and I am safe in saying 
to all men, utterly incapable of being tolerated 
by any woman ! YetThis girl, beautiful, refined, 
delicate, is in danger of losing her life on his 
account. A man completely ostracised, not on 
account of his physical deformities, which are 
absolutely repellant, but by the deformity of his 
moral nature. His life is essentially evil. A man 
who was forced to resign from a club as being 
too unsavory in reputation for even the society 
of men about town who, as we know, are not 


122 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


saints. And yet this woman fell completely in 
his power. The strange part of it to me is that 
this man, evidently controlling her as he did, 
should suffer her to escape from him. Either he is 
tired of her, or she has profited by his temporary 
absence to shake off his influence. The case, I 
tliink, appeals directly to you, as it ideals with 
the subject of your latest book. This woman, to 
my mind, has been simply magnetized by a man 
who, in order to surround himself by the class of 
people he prefers, both men and women, must 
possess in a great degree some magnetic power 
to counteract his deformity, which at first sight 
is repulsive.” 

Werner looked at the young practitioner 
keenly for a moment : 

“You think,” he said, “ it is a case where the 
latest influence in medical study is revealed. You 
believe that your patient has been hypno^zed.^” 

“ The circumstances otherwise explained would 
be against nature; in fact, such a woman could not 
love such a man. There has been a subtle force 
employed in this affair that few men believe, that 
I myself have denied till' now.” 

“ What do you call love ? ” asked Werner, after 
a pause. 

“ A moral union of tastes, ideas, and thoughts, 
with a certain healthy, physical affinity that is 
only attainable when two people^ee in each other 
personal attractions. This opinion is universal in 


WHAT IS LOVE? 


123 


these particulars ; that only a combination "'of 
moral and physical affinity can constitute pure, 
honorable love.” 

“ Then, of course, no woman could really love a 
deformed, immoral monstrosity such as you de- 
scribe this man,'’ said Werner. “ I think your 
reasoning is good, yet ^he must have an intensely 
high strung and susceptible nervous system to 
become a victim to hypnotic influence such as 
you have just described. True, I saw a case in 
point some months ago at a public reception. 
The man was just such a deformity as you des- 
cribe, and the girl was a friend of mine — on a 
visit to New York — a Miss Beale.” 

“That is the name of my patient,” said the 
young physician, quickly. 

“ Is it possible ! ” and Werner rose from his 
chair as he spoke. “ Then I know the man’s 
name — Robert Van Keever.” 

“ The same ; how did you know ? ” 

“It was he who first mastered her at the re- 
ception, I spoke of. She was just the vic- 
tim for his deviltry. I never saw a patient so 
utterly subdued, so perfectly controlled as this 
young lady then was.” 

“ My visit has not been in vain. You will 
come and see her? ” 

“ To-morrow, yes,” replied Werner, accompa- 
nying his friend to the door. 

The stars had paled out. A streak of gray was 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


124 

4 

thrown across the sky. No sound was heard. 
They seemed alone with the night. Werner 
looked, with rapt face, on the heavens. The im- 
pression of their great, desolate mystery was on 
his face. Scudder was the first to speak, and his 
voice jajred on his listener's ears, “ Well, good- 
bye ; until to-morrow." 

Werner pointed upward. How fleet the mys- 
tery we call life ! It is ‘ to-morrow' now." 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A LAST CONSULTATION. 

During three months Margaret slowly, imper- 
ceptibly strengthened, and by her side in almost 
constant attendance was Dr. Werner. It was a 
great thing to have this famous specialist in such 
devoted care of her for so long, and would have 
cost a fortune in an ordinary way, but there was 
another story gradually weaving its groundwork 
around the sick bed of the pretty convalescent, 
now rapidly approaching a complete restoration 
to health and strength. 

Dr. Scudder, only too glad to save his patient 
(he was young enough to be an idealist), was de- 
lighted with the interest his senior took in the 
matter, and willingly accepted the position of as- 
sistant to Werner in the case. 


A LAST CONSULTATION. 


125 


The winter was losing its force, and nowand 
then her power would relax and behind the sky- 
lifting its mantle of hurrying clouds was now and 
then revealed a clear, warm, brilliant sun which 
reminded one again of spring. As the days grew 
milder Margaret fast became stronger, and she 
was soon able to leave her bed and'sit in a chair 
by the window. 

The physicians were both satisfied that she was 
out of danger, and chancing to meet one day on 
Broadway they turned off into the quiet of Mad- 
ison Avenue and walking slowly held their im- 
promptu consultation. 

“ Pier mind received a shock, no doubt,’' said 
Werner, “but at her age it would have taken 
more than a mere strain to disturb her reason. 
She was young, her mind was active, virile, clear, 
— depend upon it, this history did not begin 
with the storm.” 

“ Is it not possible to make the mind believe 
anything under mesmeric spell ? ” asked Scud- 
■der. 

“ There is the danger and the good in it. The 
same force which works for evil could be em- 
ployed in destroying evil.” He paused a mo- 
ment, then said abruptly: 

“You have read my last book?” 

Scudder nodded assent. 

“Then you know that the faith cure, and the 
Christian Science treatment are nothing but hyp- 


126 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


notic influence ; and think what wonders they 
have created in defiance of medical laws, and all 
the prescriptions in the world.” 

Scudder looked at his senior’s face in alarm. 
Was the great promise of his career, and 
thorough knowledge of medicine to be under- 
mined by views of a by no means orthodox 
nature ? 

“ Then again, as I said before. Miss Beale was 
a very young girl ; she had been away from home 
but little; she had had no love affair, probably, 
previous to this attachment.” 

“Would that be a prejudice in favor of hyp- 
notic influence ?” asked Scudder. 

“ My dear friend, you will no doubt be aston- 
ished at my conclusions, but it is my belief that 
the charm we call love comes at first through mag- 
netic influence and that only the moral force of 
both the boy and the girl can save them from the 
dangers of this hypnotic force.” 

“Then you destroy the word love; you argue 
that there is no such thing.” 

“ I argue that purity has its first temptation 
when love knocks at the heart, and that unless 
the lovers are each upright in morals, the result 
is ruin.” 

“That seems a morbid theory,” said Scudder, 
slowly. 

“ Yet, angels have fallen ; women whose lives 
have been models of chastity in every action and 


A LAST CONSULTATION. 


127 


thought, are to be met daily — on the street. 
Is it not profanity to call -such amours love? 
I see no other way of explaining it. It must 
be that mysterious, dangerous force called 
hypnotism that can dare convert sacred prompt- 
ings into shame and despair.” 

“ Then you are convinced that Miss Beale was 
hypnotized ? ” 

“ Convinced, no ; but I will tell you later. You 
have observed that my treatment has not been a 
strictly medical one. I have given her only such 
medicines as would soothe the fever and quiet 
the delirium. I have aimed at abolishing no 
nucleus of disease, yet I have been almost con- 
stantly by her side.” 

“ You have watched her untiringly,” replied 
Scudder. 

“ Every moment that I have spent in the sick 
chamber, I have been testing my own hypnotic 
powers.” 

“You?” 

“ Yes ; to counteract an evil influence, I have 
controlled the illness purely by my own thought. 
My presence and my mind have absorbed hers, 
and she has been in a sort of trance for some 
time, not produced entirely by medicine. I have 
allowed sufficient time to make the immediate 
past a blank to her memory, and she will recover 
herself. Now that she is nearly well, there is a 
danger that something here in New York may 


128 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


remind her of this man, and, under all the 
circumstances, although it would take some time 
for him to place her under his entire control 
now, it is best that she have change of scene.” 

“Wonderful — these mind troubles,” said Scud- 
der, meditatively. 

“ I am going to see her this afternoon,” con- 
tinued Werner, “ and I shall suggest a trip to 
Europe with her aunt. A few months abroad 
would not do me much harm either ; this case 
has been a mental strain. I shall go with them.” 

“ How soon would you go? ” asked Scudder. 

“ I shall make arrangements to leave in a fort- 
night.” 

“I- agree with you, Werner; it will be the 
safest course for Miss Beale.” The two men 
separated, and Werner strolled leisurely back to 
see his patient, while Scudder, strangely won- 
dering at the specialist’s new treatment, thought: 

“ I wonder if he cares for her? Quite possible, 
and he will cure her with a true and honorable 
love.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

CHECKMATED. 

When Doctor Werner reached the house he 
was immediately shown upstairs. Mrs. Maitland 


CHECKMATED. 


129 


held out both her hands to greet him. Margaret 
was on a couch, tenderly bolstered by pillows and 
rugs. 

“ I should have been born a Parsee, for I 
worship the sun,” she said. “ I have been follow- 
ing it from my bedroom in here ; but it is quite 
gone now.” 

“ Why not follow it out of doors ? Come 
for a walk with me tO-morrow ; only a few steps. 
Won’t you?” Dr. Werner asked. 

“ I don’t think I will, thank you ; perhaps the 
the day after.” 

Werner did not press her. She was in a quiet, 
dreamy mood, so he spent his short visit talking 
to Mrs. Maitland and they went out together. 

I shall not be long, darling,” said AunJ: 
Maitland. But Margaret did not seem to hear 
her and Werner closed the door softly, saying to 
her aunt, “ She will fall asleep soon.” 

For once the physician was mistaken, for instead 
of falling asleep the loneliness aggravated her and 
she almost wished she had gone with them. 

“I cannot be alone like this! If Dr. 
Werner would only come back,” and she looked 
out of the window — up and down the street, as 
far as she could see, but no familiar face was in 
sight. Suddenly a closet door swung open on 
its hinges. 

She saw hanging there her cloak and hat. Ah I 
how long since she had been out ! and slipping into 


130 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


the wrap, she gathered her loose-caught hair 
under the hat, and went down the stairs into the 
street. How strange the people looked to her. 
Long weeks lay between the sunshine and her. 
Cabmen called out and beckoned, but she 
passed into Fifth Avenue, and walked on, nearly 
staggering with the effort. A desire rose within 
her to walk by, to look at a place where she had 
first met a man who was dead now — a man, the 
memory of whom, and the manner of his death, 
she felt, would cloud the years left of life for 
her. It was not far to go, only a few steps 
more, yet she reeled and caught at the edge 
of a railing. With dogged perseverance she went 
on, came to the street, and turned slowly to 
pass in front of the house. The windows in his 
room were open and the pale silken curtains, the 
pattern of which she remembered so well, flut- 
tered in the chill air. Who had the place now ? 
Why was it open like this? She would ask, 

As she started to go to the door, a brougham 
drove up and a servant helped the occupant from 
it. Margaret turned ; a black mist closed in 
around her ; she cried out hoarsely. The man 
before her was — 

Robert Van Keever. 

If this meeting was any surprise to Van 
Keever, his face showed no sign of it. 

“Will you come in?” he said, pleasantly. 
“Johnson, open the door.” 


CHECKMATED. 


I3I 

Margaret, weak and trembling, tried to retrace 
her footsteps. She swayed as she walked. 
What did it all mean ? the dead alive ? 

Van Keever called to her, softly. She turned. 

I thought you were dead,’' she faltered. He 
laughed, and a tinge of latent coarsenevss lay in 
the laugh. 

“ Do I look as if I were dead ? I never felt 
better in my life.” And it was for this she had 
suffered and looked into a grave, only to see it 
close before her longing eyes. If he knew ! Ah ! 
if he knew ! No desire to hear the mystery ex- 
plained was in her mind. Her dead had been 
brought to life. He was alive! With hesitating 
feet she quitted him, feeling with each slow step, 
his eyes upon her. With a hurried order to John- 
son, he started after her. As he reached her 
side, a man turned the corner, and taking in tlie 
situation at a glance took Miss Beale’s arm, 
hailed a cab, and without noticing Van Keever, 
helped her gently but determinedly into it. 

“ Drive on,” he ordered, giving the address. 

- “Yes, sir! ” the driver answered ; and the cab 
startled off. 

“Now, sir,” — Werner turned to Van Keever, 
“ I’ll talk to you.” 

“ Dr. Werner, I believe. I am — ” 

“I know perfectly, well who you are,” Wer-. 
ner interrupted. 

“ My rooms are here ; as you have something 


132 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


to say to me, had you not better come in ? ” 
remarked Van Keever. 

Werner followed him up the stairs. When they 
were in Van Keever’s quarters, both were silent 
until Johnson had left the room. 

Werner stood, looking at the shapeless figure 
before him. On his forehead, thick veins 
stood out, as though from passion, sternly re- 
pressed. 

“ I have consented to come here, because what 
I have to say must be between us two. ’ I have 
known for some time that Miss Beale believed 
you to be dead. I am her physician, and as 
such I advised her aunt, Mrs. Maitland, to take 
her out of the city, in fact, to take her abroad. I 
intend to accompany them, and we expect to 
sail next week. A difficulty, I now plainly see, 
comes up through her meeting with you. I 
have known for the past few weeks that you 
were in New York. Now what I have to say to 
you is this. It is best that you should Jiot try to 
change our plans, nor to see or communicate with 
her in any way.” 

“And why not?” demanded Van Keever; 
“what right have you to speak to me like 
this? ” 

“ The right of an honest man, which is more 
than you have shown yourself to be in this mat- 
ter.” 

Van Keever’s lips curled into an evil smile. 


CHECKMATED. 1 33 

'' I am not aware that you know anything of this 
‘ matter,’ as you call it.” 

“Then I will tell you at once that I know 
everything. I have given much of my time for 
weeks to getting at the truth.” 

His voice, hoarse with suppressed, anger, trem- 
bled at times into a whisper as he went on. 

“ I have seen a woman on the verge of death, 
brought there by you ; a woman whom illness 
alone prevented from throwing away her life in a 
convent. It was the woman you were just speak- 
ing to. You drove her to this.” 

“I? I drive a woman into a convent?” Van 
Keever answered, with a loud laugh. “You are 
certainly under a big misapprehension. I was 
never an advocate of convents.” 

“ No ! I never thought you an advocate of 
anything that might put a woman beyond your 
reach. In this case, however, I trust you will be 
wise enough in the future to look upon Miss 
Beale as a lady you never knew.” 

“As to that, sir, I shall, of course, use my own 
judgment.” 

“ I think not ; for, as there is a God above us, 
rather than see her in your clutches again, I will 
put every fact in the hands of her family.” 

“No, you won’t,” Van Keever replied, “for 
you love her yourself.” 

The two men stared at each other. The shaft 
had struck home. Van Keever had the intuition 


134 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


of a woman. Women seldom reason, they feel. 
What Werner had not realized himself, this cun- 
ning cripple had felt, had known in an instant. 

At last Werner made reply: 

“ Love,” he said, slowly, “ has nothing to do 
with this. I would take the same interest in a 
bird in the power of a snake.” 

A knock came at the door, but remained un- 
noticed : 

“ I warn you, keep clear of her, or I’ll — ” 

Werner’s powerful hand grasped the back of the 
wheel chair, as though to crush its occupant, and 
swayed the hunchback backward and forward. 
The knocking was repeated, and Johnson ran 
from the inside room to answer it. A boy came 
in with a note in his hand. 

For Dr. Werner,” he said. 

Werner’s eye caught the writing in an instant. 
Tearing it open, he read : 

“Come at once; say nothing, do nothing, till 
I see you. I beg of you not to lose one mo- 
ment. 

“ Margaret Beale.” 

Putting the note in his pocket, Werner went to 
the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned 
and faced Van Keever: 

“ If you were a man, by God ! I’d kill 
you ! ' 


LET THE GOOD WOMAN WIN. 


135 


CHAPTER XXL 

LET THE GOOD WOMAN WIN. 

“You sent for me ?” Dr. Werner asked of the 
woman who stood before him. 

One look into his eyes, and Margaret Beale 
felt that he knew everything. Yet, how could 
he know ? Surely, he had not told him. Her 
eyes dropped to a rug at her feet, as she an- 
swered : 

“ Yes, I sent for you and we have only a few 
minutes alone. Aunt will be back very soon 
now.” Along pause. “When I left you with 
him,” — she spoke with an effort, — “ I felt as if 
something dreadful was going to happen. I 
knew you were angry, for I heard your voice 
threatening as I drove off after you had put 
me in the cab. I felt in some way that you 
blamed him, Mr. Van Keever ; he met me in the 
street, accidentally ; we are* old friends.” Her 
mouth trembled, and she twisted her handkerchief 
nervously in her hands. 

As Werner watched her, the muscles of his 
face tightened in agony : 

“My dear child,” he said, “you cannot blind 
me to the truth. I knew your secret before I 
came to you. That was why I came.” 

She cried out, and stared at him with terror- 


136 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


stricken eyes. Aunt Maitland — ” she whispered, 
hoarsely. 

“ Knows nothing, believe me.” 

Her face grew crimson, and she looked about 
as though to escape from the room. He took her 
hands in his and led her gently to a chair. “ I 
have known for some time that you believed this 
person to be dead. I knew it from what I 
gathered from you in your delirium. I knew, too, 
that he was living ; that you were laboring under 
a delusion.” 

“ You knew? ” 

“ I knew. I think the time has come to tell 
you that you have been under the domination of 
a morbid fancy, under a spell ; you have never 
really loved that — man.” 

Margaret stirred uneasily, and then rose to her 
feet. Werner continued, without appearing to 
notice her agitation. “ If you were away from 
him one year, you would loathe him, as I 
do.” 

“You misunderstand me ; you have no right 
to—” 

“No right ! I brought you back from the grave. 
Does that not give me some slight right to advise 
you for your good ? ” 

She was silent. 

“ Miss Beale, how can I put this to you so 
that you may not be offended, how shall I say it ? 
This man Van Keever has made no effort to 


LEL THE GOOD WOMAN WIN. 1 3 / 

learn where you are, to see you. A man who 
loves a woman does not so lightly lose her.” 

She turned from him angrily: “ I have said I 
didnot wish to speak of this ; it concerns my- 
self only.” 

^‘What concerns yourself only, shall not be 
be spoken of ; what concerns those who care for 
you, and love you, shall be. Do me the justice 
to admit that I am unselfish in this! It breaks 
my heart to have to speak to you, but if your 
mother knew — ” 

“ Mother^! Mother I ” A sob rose to her lips. 
“She thinks me a saint — ” 

“And I. do, too!” He reached out his hands 
to her and looked into her quivering face. 
“And I do, too — a saint, whose divine pity led 
her from her better self for only a little time. I 
reverence — I respect you ; I want to keep you 
pure and good, as you are now, pure and good.” 

“ Pure and good ? ” she faltered. 

“ Pure and good as you are, and as it rests 
with you to remain. As surely as I feel your 
presence in this room, I feel that the man who . 
has given you up once will come back, since he 
sees you are escaping him. You will not forgive 
him a second time ; your pride in your own dear 
self should prevent that. My God ! can’t I impress 
on you the horror of it all.? Promise me that he 
shall not come here, that you will not see him 
again before we sail,” 


138 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ How do I know? How can I tell?” she an- 
swered. 

“How can you tell! Will you not let the 
higher spirit triumph ? There are two women 
in you. Will you not let the good woman win ? ” 

She stood before the fireplace, her slender 
hands clasped together. 

“ The good woman ! ” she repeated; “you say 
these things to comfort me, but in your heart 
you know you despise me.” 

“You don’t know what you are saying,” he 
cried, turning from her abruptly. She crossed 
the room, and absently pulled the curtains aside, 
looking out into the night. The streets were as 
bright as day, under the electric lamps, and people 
could b,e seen as they passed to and fro. 

“ Come here,” she said. 

Werner went to her side. 

In the street, a woman loitered under a light, 
her face powdered and colored with glaring cos- 
metics. She had about her that unmistakable 
air of a woman of the streets. 

“ Look at that woman,” Margaret said. “ Look 
what she is. Some man made her so, and yet all 
the men, he too, perhaps, jeer at her. I am, to 
you, on his account, no better than that woman. 
I know it I ” 

“ Come from that window ! ” he said, hoarsely, 
and drew the curtains together. “ How dare 
you compare yourself to that woman ! Try and 


UNDER TUE flash LIGHT. 


139 


think of yourself as a woman \vho has been 
always good, as your own true natural self. 
Promise me you will try to think as I ask you. I 
believe you will be happier for it.’' 

Her head sank forward. 

“ I am very tired,” she said ; “ I will try, I don’t 
know.” She groped her way into the other room, 
as a child might have done. 

“ God bless you and keep you. Good night,” 
the doctor, murmured after her. 

He metiVIrs. Maitland in the hallway. 

“ I learn, my dear Mrs. Maitland,” he said, 
quietly, “that the steamer we intended taking 
is overcrowded. We shall have to sail four days 
sooner on the Cunard line.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

UNDER THE FLASH LIGHT. 

As the door swung to from the parting grasp 
of Werner’s nerveful hand, Van Keever sat rigid 
in his chair, staring at the carpet, his fingers 
nervously twitching. 

His egotistic nature was stung by Werner’s 
words, by his air of defence and proprietorship in 
regard to Margaret. The thought that some one 
loved her, that another stood between them, 
where he had thought no barrier could exist, 


140 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

aroused his anger ; and then the sight of her pale 
face, her staggering form, softened him. He was 
much changed from formerly. The fate which 
threatened to overtake him was close at hand, he 
could move only with difficulty now, the sensual 
expression of his face had changed into a settled 
sadness , the eyes were almost gentle. Had she 
forgotten him, he mused, that she was going 
away from him ? He would be quite alone. She 
was the last ray of mercy that he had hoped 
would soothe a terrible end. 

No one knew but himself how deeply the words 
just hurled at him had cut ; how they had struck 
home, and opened a sensitive wound never 
healed, always waiting to break out. 

The feeling that he was not as other men 
never lost its keen, wounding effect on him. 
Reading his letters through, he laid them on a 
table, upon which lay an evening paper. Pick- 
ing it up he looked closely at the steamer adver- 
tisements, noting carefully the sailing days of the 
best ships. When he had finished the column, 
he unconsciously crushed the sheet , between 
his fingers, and then threw it aside, as he 
murmured : 

“ One week left me. In one week she sails.’' 
The words, “If you were a man, I’d kill you,” 
came back to him. He moved his chair impa- 
tiently to the sofa and threw himself upon its 
cushions. His lips were set in a determined 


UNDER THE^ FLASH LIGHT. I4I 

way that made straight red lines of them. In his 
eyes there gleamed a steady, dangerous light ; 
but his hand shook as he poured brandy into a 
glass that stood on a table near him, and drank 
it eagerly. A partial engagement for that even- 
ing came to his mind. “Johnson,*’ he called, 
“you remember hearing Mrs. Grandolph say 
that she might be up with some people this 
evening to have their pictures taken here ? ” 

“Yes, sin” 

“ I want you to hurry, Johnson, and tell Mrs. 
Grandolph that it will be quite impossible for me 
to see them, on qccount of an important business 
matter. You can get there before they leave, if 
you make haste.” 

Just then there came a faint ripple of laughter 
along the hall, and a woman’s voice said, “ Sh ! ” 
The very sound conveyed the motion of her hand 
held warningly to her lips. “ May we come in? 
It was Mrs. Grandolph seeking to surprise him.” 

A female voice chimed in with Mrs. Gran- 
dolph’s, saying: “We’ve come to have our 
pictures taken.” 

Behind the ladies came a man. 

“ How are you, old fellow ? They would bring 
me, you know,” the latter said, helplessly. 

“Ah, Van Fallen, how are you? I’m sorry 
for you, but you don’t look quite a martyr. 
Mighty good of you to come up, Mrs, Gran- 
dolph,” Van Keever answered. 


142 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


‘‘Johnson bustled around the ladies, taking 
from them their wraps, as suave and^ deferential 
as if he had not just been told to ward them off. 

“We met Mr. and Mrs. Motford on the way 
here, and I insisted on bringing Mrs. Motford 
with me, said Mrs. Grandolph.’’ 

Van Keever looked quizzically at the speaker. 

“ And Mr. Motford } ” he asked. 

“ I think,” Mr. Motford's better half replied, 
quickly, “ he went to his club. Poor, dear Mr. 
Motford, he so seldom has a minute away from 
me. I can’t bear him, though, to get into 
that horrible habit of going to the club all the 
time.” 

“When poor, dear Mr. Grandolph. was alive, 
he seldom went to his club. In fact, he was 
never happy away from me for a single hour,” 
Mrs. Grandolph said, sadly. 

At this, Mrs. Motford turned her head slowly 
until she met Van Keever’s eye, when she 
winked deliberately at him. There was a volume 
of meaning in that wink. 

Est-ce quelle nous pr end pour des betes, nous 
autreSy' she whispered to Van Keever, fastening a 
flower in his coat. 

“You should have your picture taken just as 
you look now,” said Van Keever. “Van Fallen, 
will you place the camera in the other room ? 
You’ll find it in that closet,” with a motion of 
his hand toward a door near him. 


UNDER THE FLASH LIGHT. 


143 


^‘My picture taken with you?” murmured 
Mrs. Motford. “ What zvouIdMr. Motford say ? ” 
and she followed Van Fallen, who was carrying 
the camera into another room. 

Mrs. Grandolph turned her head slowly till 
she met Van Keever’s eye, when she winked 
deliberately. There was a volume of meaning in 
that wink. 

Est-ce qu elle nous prend pour des bites, nous 
autresP she whispered in her turn, with an inno- 
cent look in her wide open eyes. 

Van Keever laughed. Her sense of hearing 
had been sharpened by years of listening for her 
errant spouse’s belated step. 

At last the camera was in position, and the 
women, dreaming of marvellous poses, huddled 
together in a corner like sheep, with that 
dependent look ladies have when slightly 
embarrassed. Mrs. Motford was the first to 
speak. 

“ What shall I do?” she asked. 

Van Keever held in his hand a saucer contain- 
ing some magnesium, ready to be ignited for the 
purpose of throwing the desired light on the sub- 
ject of the picture. 

“ Mrs. Grandolph,” he said, “ where is that 
long promised pose of yours — as you looked 
the first evening you honored me by dining here ? 
Don’t you remember how you left us at table, 
and coming in this very room, threw your- 


144 - 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


self in front of the fire on the hearth rug? When 
we followed you in we found — ” 

“You found?” Mrs. Grandolph asked, with 
visible anxiety. 

“ We found, Mrs. Grandolph, an Oriental 
beauty lying before the fire, with the reflection 
of its glow making color upon her face. I re- 
member distinctly how you looked. Come now, 
be a good girl ! You got up that little surprise 
for me so charmingly, surely you must remember 
how you did it.” 

“I’m so impulsive! I do such mad things,” 
Mrs. Grandolph said, with a helpless shrug ; “ it 
quite escapes me.” 

“ Make a picture as nearly like it as you can. 
Do try, now ; do your very best.” As the 
two put their heads together, discussing this 
matter of the pose, Mrs. Motford came slowly 
from the bedroom, whither she had retreated 
some few moments, before. Her plump figure 
was draped in a white silken “ portiere,” 
which she had undone from its fastenings, 
and it clung to her, and swayed with her 
body as she moved, so deftly was it caught. 
Mrs. Motford had been known to say that a 
woman and a paper of pins made a wardrobe in 
themselves. Across her breast and back the 
sheer silk was tightly drawn, and shone with a 
glint, as in an opal, but about her waist it lay in 
heavy folds. Her full, white throat was cx- 


UNDER THE FLASH LIGHT. 


145 


posed and shone whiter than the silk enfolding 
her. Her sleepy eyes looked through half closed 
lids. Suddenly she stood motionless in front 
of the camera, as if made of marble. 

“ ‘ The Lotus,” I should call that picture,” 
cried Van Keever, and then there was a stillness 
as the magnesium light flared out over the 
model. A glow of momentary triumph blazed 
in her eyes and on her cheeks. She knew that 
she had shown no small courage before this 
woman who was looking at her, ready to tear 
her to pieces for this, for her very loveliness, on 
the first chance. Little cared she, however, for 
anything save the triumph of the moment.” 

“ One more picture, Mrs. Motlord,” Van 
Keever begged of her and Mrs. Grandolph echoed, 
“ Do, dear; that last one was very lovely.” 

With a soft smile Mrs. Motford gathered up a 
tiger-skin rug that lay at her feet. Her hair had 
fallen down, and its thick brown masses gave a 
suggestion of a lion’s mane, when the light 
touched them. She raised her head and her 
lip curled, as she caught the tiger-skin across 
her shoulder, and deftly drew back the white 
drapery from her neck. 

“ I call this, Mrs. Motford before Caesar,” she 
said. 

Van Fallen, the artist, was young. His face 
grew red and his hand trembled, as he took the 
negative out of the camera. Emboldened by 


146 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


Mrs. Motford’s example, the other woman was 
gradually awakening to the spirit of posing as a 
model. At a signal from his master Johnson en- 
tered, bringing glasses. 

Mrs. Grandolph had by this time slipped into 
a little eastern gown. She had soft suede 
boots on her pretty feet as she walked from 
the camera, with her back to it, and lifted with 
one hand her skirt. The other held a tiny hour- 
glass, brought from Egypt to Van Keever, and 
which had stood on his table. She paused, and 
looked over her shoulder with a faltering, irres- 
olute expression on her face. The pink and 
gold of her robe caught ^ shimmer from the 
light. A pretty picture this — the hour-glass 
held up high ; the wistful face looking back- 
wards ; the sheen and glint of the robe. 

“ I am a Dresden china ‘ Fate,’ ” she said. 
Van Keever smiled, reached up and took the 
hour-glass from her. 

“Nothing so stern as fate should overtake a 
lovely Dresden china lady,” he said. 

“ You are quite right,” Mrs. Motford inter- 
posed. “ Nothing should overtake her so stern 
as fate or time.” 

“ I’ll be bound that will make a pretty picture,” 
Van Fallen interposed nervously. 

Mrs. Motford dragged a hammock from a cor- 
ner, and stretched it across the room, on hooks 
that were driven in the door frames for it. She 


UNDER THE FLASH LIGHT. 


147 


seized the palest of the blossoms from the stand 
and slipped into the hammock. One of her feet 
was bare, and thrown carelessly over the side. 

Van Keever got into the hammock with her. 
The two were all scattered over with the blos- 
soms. 

“Spring-time,” this picture is; and they pelted 
the others with the blossoms until the place 
looked like a rose garden after a storm, while 
they were waiting for another subject. Mrs. 
Grandolph stood by a small table. She had in her 
hand one of the flowers she had picked up from 
the floor; the other rested upon a letter lying on 
the desk. There was a far away look in her eyes, 
and her lips were slightly parted. “ Very lovely,” 
the artist said, and into her eyes there came a 
mist of tears, as the artificial light died out. 

“ We’ll call that one, ‘ Waiting,’ ” Van Fallen 
suggested. 

“ You look sad,” Van Keever whispered to her, 
under cover of the chatter. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Nothing,” she said, briefly. 

“ But there is ; tell me,” he insisted. 

“ Well; its very nice to pose, but it's a dreadful 
trouble to get into one’s clothes again.” 

“ Van Fallen and I will go into the dining- 
room so you two can have this place all to your- 
selves,” and their host promptly retired. 

Then there came that peculiar bustling and jar 
that women make when they are looking for lost 


148 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


hair-pins, mislaid gloves and other indispensable 
trifles. 

When the guests were gone, Van Keever 
turned the lights low and threw himself on a 
couch in his bedroom, as a man who is wearied, 
bored with life. At any other time such an event 
in his rooms would have been enjoyed with a 
keen relish of its bohemian qualities, but to-night 
through it all he could not forget Margaret’s 
sweet face as he had first seen it, with its sweet, 
true eyes. 

A ray of moonlight brought from the east a 
stream of glorious white sheen, and in its course 
through the window to the floor it cast an ugly 
pallor upon the devil’s mask above his head. 

“You too mock me,” he murmured angrily, 
tearing it from the wall, and crushing it in his 
hands. The excitement exhausted him, and he 
sank back among the cushions, and lay there very 
still. Before him he could see only one figure, 
one face. 

His punishment had come ! 

He loved her ! 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

‘‘ BON VOYAGE.” 

For three days Van Keever made no effort to 
see Margaret, who in the meantime had gone 


“BON VOYAGE.^ 149 

with her aunt to the Hotel Salars, so as to facili- 
tate the preparations for the coming journey. 

On the fourth day, he sent a basket of flowers 
with a note hidden among them to the Hotel Sa- 
lars. He asked in his note for an aitswer at once 
— but none came. In the afternoon he went over 
himself, and sat in the little reception room while 
Johnson went to the office to know if the flowers 
had been delivered and if Miss Beale were in. 

“ No, she is not here now,” the clerk answered 
him. “ She’s gone away." 

“ Where ? ” 

“ She left no address here. She went with her 
aunt.” 

Johnson felt, in looking at the man, that he 
was not telling him the truth. He believed 
she was gone, but he thought if orders had not 
been given, he could have been told where she 
was. He went back to Van Eeever, who seemed 
astonished. He made no show of moving for 
some few minutes. At length he said, “ There’s 
but one way to find out where she is. Johnson, 
we’ll go to Lenox,” and getting into a cab, the 
two drove away. As the cab went around the 
corner, the clerk, who watched them from the 
window, smiled a subdued, wise smile and then 
went on about his business. 

Meanwhile an old lady in a ward of the New 
York Hospital was admiring a basket of flowers 
just presented to her by a certain physician. 


150 HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 

“ I have made every provision for you while I 
am away and I am only sorry I do not see you 
well before leaving, this physician was saying.” 

“You are very kind.” The old lady looked up 
at the doctor gratefully. “ It was thoughtful of 
you to bring me these flowers.” 

“ Don’t thank me for them — thank the one 
from whom they came.” 

“ She must be good to remember the sick. ” 

“ She is.” 

“ Are you sure the interest is altogether on my 
account?” asked the old lady with a smile. 
“ Perhaps you have told her of the friendship 
between your mother and me.” 

“Did she send me a message too ? ” she went 
on, as her eye fell upon a letter in the basket, 
and she drew it from among the flowers. 

Werner took it from her. “ That is not yours, 
nor mine. It is a mistake, its being there.” 

He put it in his pocket, and presently took his 
leave, followed by the tearful blessings of the old 
lady. Van Keever’s flowers had sown their seed 
in pleasant places. 

Once outside the big building, Werner took the 
letter from his pocket and looked at the direction 
closely. 

“ I think I will deliver this when we are so far 
out on the ocean that the pilot-boat shall have 
left us.” He put it into a leather note-book, and 
looking at his watch hastened down the street. 
******** 


**BON VOYAGE.” I51 

In the stuffy, hot little station at Lenox, 
Van Keever waited while Johnson went outside 
to hunt up a cab. He grew tired of sitting there, 
wondering if Miss Atwood would be in, and if 
so, whether she would tell him where Miss Beale 
had gone to. He picked up a torn fragment of 
the morning's paper to while away the minutes 
till Johnson’s return. 

The first thing that met his glance was this: 

Among the passengers 
who sail on the Brit 
to-day, will be 
Dr. Henry Werner, 

Maitland, Mrs. 

Miss M. Beale 
and Mrs. 

It was then two o’clock. The boat left at 
three. 

“ How soon does the next train go — back to 
New York, I mean,” he shouted to the station 
agent. 

“ Four o’clock, sir I ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE NEARING OF THE END. 

“ When sparrows build, aftd leaves break forth. 

My old sorrow ivakes and moans.'' 

The winter months have drifted by, and 
spring has come again ; spring in New York, 


152 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


with the opening of the buds and leaves in the 
park, through which people were driving slowly 
that the scent in the air and the relief of the 
green dressed trees might not escape them. 
One carriage drives even more slowly than the 
rest, and in it sits a man, looking curiously about 
him. His face is thin and drawn, and purple 
rings are underneath his eyes. People stare at 
him as he goes by. He notices it and gives them 
quick, sharp glances in return. Coming toward 
him is a carriage in which sits a mother and her 
two daughters and beside her, her son. Van 
Keever straightens up and raises his hat. They 
are old friends of his family, and of the good 
old [Knickerbocker stock. To his amazement, 
they look him in the face and leave his bow 
unnoticed. The son gives him a furtive glance, 
as much as to say: “Another time, when my 
sisters are not with me.” It meant the cut 
direct. “Home, home, home!” he called 
impatiently to the driver. There were others 
who were pleased enough to know him. A 
year ago they had been his friends. Ah! but 
that was a year ago. Since then he had changed. 
“ Hurry, hurry!” he called to the driver. 
Johnson met him at the door and helped him in. 
As the day crept on he found he was growing 
nervous at being left alone. Anything but being 
left to think in solitude, for, after all, Johnson was 
only to be counted as a part of himself. Sunday 


THE NEARING OF THE END. 


153 


is a dull day in New York unless one is anxious 
to pray; so at last he called to Johnson: “Go 
out and find people! Try Mrs. Motford and 
whoever she can bring, and stop and look for the 
other one who comes with her sometimes.” 
Anything but to be left alone I 

In an hour or so Johnson returned with every 
one he could get to come, and the crowd chattered 
and laughed as crowds had done of old. Only 
now they talk louder, their laughter is shriller, 
the women appear to him in a different light. Mrs. 
Grandolph has married again and gone away. 
Van Fallen has' forsworn the place. Hunter is 
dropping him quietly but surely. Mrs. Mot- 
ford, of the many, alone remains. Her bills 
are paid, and Mr. Motford indulges extrava- 
gant tastes. Good, kind-hearted Bertie remains, 
although the class she is obliged to mix with is 
— well — risqiiL They all drink more, too, except- 
ing Van Keever, who since some prudish doctor 
put a snail-like caution in his head, refuses to 
drink at all, save perhaps a spoonful of brandy in 
his demi-tasse. 

These outcasts of Bohemia resent this modera- 
tion on the. part of their host. 

The cushions with red lights thrown on them, 
still make backgrounds for women’s upturned 
faces, — but what faces! Johnson is wondering 
what the end will be. Meanwhile, he himself is 
carefully feathering his nest. Shrewd Johnson ! 


154 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


The women are saying : “ Easter is here, 
spring is come,” and they wonder about their 
Easter bonnets and hats. And for this did a 
man suffer and rise again ! Could one of these 
women comprehend the divine passion ! They 
could once — if Fate hadn’t made a slip for them. 

It was, they said and say, all chance, all 
luck.” 

Van Keever seldom visits his family now. He 
tires of them. He has given up his habit of 
reading Swinburne aloud, though now and then 
he dwells lovingly on the beauty of “ Faustine.” 
His “crowd,” as he calls it, likes “ Boccacio ” 
better. Once, in looking over the leaves of 
Faustine, he came across the words : “ And 
Pan by noon and Bacchus by night.” He shut 
the book with a snap. He regrets her ; she is the 
only one. he regrets. Mrs. Motford tells him 
that a year ago he nearl}^ forgot her. “It was 
quite impossible to find you, your rooms were so 
often shut up.” 

“Ah, yes,” he answers, “but that was before I 
realized that there were so many charming 
women in the world. I was a fool then, I am 
wise now.” 

But in his heart he knows that he is the fool 
now. Still, anything but to be left alone. This 
living for a frivolous group and one’s self, makes 
up a horrible life — horrible ! 

If we fling our sacred passions into the gutter. 


THE NEARING OF THE END. 1 55 

what must we be ! What have we left ! What 
are we ! he thinks ; still, <^;^^thing but to be left 
alone. 

He has dismissed his doctor of years’ attend- 
ance because he tells him the truth, and he knows 
it is the truth. He knows the end is coming, 
not far off now, and he by his very life is reach- 
ing out and bringing it towards him, with his 
nervous thin hands. 

And now he laughs, and mocks and sits up till 
daybreak and wastes his life — and waits. 

Waits for the living end. 

Once he told Johnson, If I grow worse I will 
take this!” and he showed a pearl handled 
revolver, such as some men carry, and which, he 
kept locked in a desk ; and he held it up to John- 
son’s fascinated gaze. “ I will take this and 
make an end of it, before I will become helpless 
and pitied.” Of course it is doubted by those to 
whom the story was repeated that he really 
would do as he threatened. When a man is an 
atheist and a fatalist, he is sure only of one 
thing and that is life, and he loves it, and clings 
to it, for it is all he has. 

Meanwhile Van Keever waits. 


56 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

BESIDE THE SUMMER SEA. 

Have you ever been to Nice in the season? 

If you have, then you can understand what 
magic there was in the languid air, what freedom 
in the clear blue .sky, what .strength and 
power in the far reaching Mediterranean for Mar- 
garet Beale. , 

Dr. Werner had taken them to a great hotel 
facing the sea and the wonderful promenade that 
runs almost along the water’s edge. Margaret 
and her aunt have rooms facing the ocean, and 
the bright sun electrifies the water, and sparkles 
the rippling white-caps so that the light penetrates 
their apartments early in the morning and they 
are obliged to get up almost at sunrise. Then, 
before hardly any one is about, Margaret will slip 
on her hat and get as near to the sea as possible, 
sitting close to it, as a child would who has just 
come down to the sea-side for a holiday after a 
long winter in the nursery. She was surprised 
one morning, deep in these vague meditations 
which a vast expanse of ocean and sky can alone 
inspire, by someone placing two hands upon her 
shoulders while a voice said close to her: 

“You’ll become a mermaid if you sit so long 
by the sea.” 

She looked up, and a bright smile brought the 


BESIDE THE SUMMER SEA. 157 

color to her cheeks ; and taking the speaker’s 
hand she said, simply: 

“ Good morning, Doctor.” 

Werner took a seat beside her and they sat in 
silence for some time. 

An old flower woman, rheumatic and crippled . 
through long exposure to early dews, no doubt, 
was passing on her way to a flower-stand. A big 
basket was on her arm and from beneath a wet 
cloth peeped her perfumed wares. 

“How lovely!— the first crocuses of the sea- 
son,” said Margaret. 

The old wohaan stopped, and anxious to sell 
more than a simple bunch of the spring flowers, 
pressed among the crocuses a huge bunch of 
white violets into Margaret’s hand. She dropped 
them in the dust at her feet. 

“Not those,” ' she said, turning away from the 
violets and selecting aiiother bunch of crocuses 
which she fastened in her dress. Werner stooped 
and picking up one of the white violets placed it 
in his buttonhole. 

“ Why do you do that ? ” asked Margaret, with 
a troubled look. 

“ I am very fond of them,” replied Werner, 

“ they are bright and sweet.” 

Margaret looked at him uneasily for a mo- 
ment : 

“ For my sake, don’t wear it, she said, softly.” 

“Why?” 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


IS8 

I hate them ; they are not half as pretty as the 
deep blue flower ; they are unnatural, untrue.” 

He detached the flower from his buttonhole 
and cast it into the air and a gentle breeze 
whirled it higher and farther away, till Margaret, 
straining her eyes, could just see it, a dark speck, 
as it fell at last into the waves. Then she 
breathed freely. 

“ The mail last night brought me a paper from 
home,” Werner began. 

‘‘ Yes?” 

“ I see,” he continued, “ that a friend of yours, 
Mr. Hunter, has made an enormous success, and 
no end of money, with a book he has written, 
‘ Mr. Brown, of New Jersey.’ ” 

“ Indeed, I am glad he has been so fortunate.” 

“ But that is nothing compared with another 
piece of luck that has befallen him.” 

“ And that ? ” 

“ He has become the husband of that charming 
woman who came to the ship to see you off, 
Miss Atwood.” 

“Leda? why you don’t mean it! Can it be 
possible I I never dreamed she would go in for 
anything so romantic as a love match. She 
always seemed bent on making, in some way, a 
success.” 

“ And so she will make a success. So she has 
already, through her husband.” 

“Perhaps,” Margaret said, slowly, “she loved 


BESIDE THE SUMMER SEA. 1 59 

him all the time, although she never hinted at 
it.” 

“ Love is a strange thing. It is a tyrant. It 
generally wins the day,” he answered. 

The birds above their heads flew about with 
straws in their mouths, chattering, scolding, lov- v 
ing. 

“Have you ever loved?” Margaret asked, 
abruptly. 

Werner looked at her keenly a moment before 
answering : . 

“ Why do you ask ? ” he said. 

“ Because, I was wondering how much you 
would care for any one you really loved.” 

“ Men of strong natures love once, and then 
for a lifetime.” 

“ Tell me,” she almost whispered, “ do you 
think he loved ? ” 

Werner turned his head aside, and then said : 

“ No ; such nature as his do not know the true 
meaning of. To Love.” 

“ When I think how well you have made me, 
she said to him,- after a pause, how patient you 
have been, how thoughtful, what good care you 
have taken of me, I feel I can’t thank you 
enough.” 

“ Yes, you can ! ” 

“ How?” 

“ Give me the right to take care of you al- 
ways.” 


i6o 


HER FIRST ADVENTURE. 


“ Oh ! ” She buried her face in her hands, 
overcome by something she had never thought 
of — so out of the range of possibility, it seemed 
to hen 

Just then Mrs. Maitland came bustling up to 
them, and handed Margaret a package : 

“ There, dear ! ” she said, “ it came by the mail 
last night. I forgot to give it to you. No, stay 
where you are — you two people ! I am going 
for a short, very short little stroll along the boule- 
vard. Thank you ; I prefer to be alone. This 
air makes me feel like a young girl who -wants to 
be alone and think over oh, so many things.” . 

Before Margaret could stop her she was walk- 
ing briskly away. 

She partially undid the wrappings, and amid 
the folds of tissue paper found a book. 

“ It is an Easter gift,” she said. “Tt comes 
from Leda.” 

It was an illumined text copy of the “ Song of 
Songs,” of the Song of Love, which is the Song 
of Solomon (the sun). 

Margaret paused and hesitated before she 
opened the package entirely. 

“Why have you not lifted it out from all 
that.^” pointing to a mass of paper, twine and 
sealing wax that partly covered it, said Werner. 

“ Because,” she said, “ once, some time ago, 
I put my finger at random on a verse in this 
song. My eyes were closed then, and I opened 


BESIDE THE SUMMER SEA. l6l 

the page blindly. That was long ago, when I 
was unhappy.” 

“What was the verse you found ” Werner 
asked. “ Tell me.” 

She hesitated, and then opened the book and 
found the verse. She began : 

“ I sleep, but my heart waketh.” 

Werner took the book and closed it. It was 
so unlike him — so foreign to his ways, yet he 
held the volume before her and said : 

“ It was a year ago or more when you found 
that verse. Try once more — once again. Come, 
please open it.” 

Half wondering she put her hand between two 
pages of the book, and opening it read : “ Set 

me as a seal upon thy heart.” 

He took her hand in his, there was no one 
about,* and holding ^ it firmly, tightly, he 
said : 

“ I think the time may come — when — ” Just 
then one of the lazeroni, who hover about Ital- 
ian shores, came up to them with his cap off, beg- 
ging, a smile on his face. 

He was a dwarf, his shoulders and chest were 
misshapen, his arms were long, and hung help- 
lessly over his crutches. The face was hideous, 
with its unhealthy olive color, and the hair was 
bushy, black, roughly worn. 

The eyes, though, were large, brown, almost 
gentle.. 


i 62 her first adventure. 

He mumbled something as he stood in his rags 
and dirt before them. Margaret started. 

Werner frowned at him angrily and waved him 
aside. As they rose from the seat Margaret 
drew a coin from her purse and dropped it into 
his hat. 

Would she ever forget those eyes! 

That night the moon shone brightly, and Wer- 
ner sitting alone with Margaret by the sea, re- 
peated the lines: “Set me as a seal upon thy 
heart,” while she with her eyes fastened on the 
white sails of a yacht gliding near the shore, 
murmured to herself: 

“ But how — oh, teach me to forget I and hope.” 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 

From the French of Th^ophile Gautier, 

BY 

J. HEARN. 


Five hundred years before the Trojan War, 
there was a grand festival at Sardes. King Can- 
daules was going to many. Men were gathering 
in groups in the Agora, upon the steps of the 
temples and along the porticos. 

The road along which the procession was to 
pass had been strewn with fine yellow sand. 
Brazen tripods, disposed along the way at 
regular intervals, sent up to heaven the odorous 
smoke of cinnamon and spikenard. Myrtle and 
rose-laurel branches were strewn upon the 
ground ; and from the walls of the palaces were 
suspended rich tapestries. 

Nyssia, daughter of the Satrap Megabazus, was 
gifted with marvelous purity of feature and per- 
fection of form — at least such was the rumor 
spread abroad by the female slaves who attended 


164 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


her, and a few female friends wlro had accom- 
panied her to the bath ; for no man could boast 
of knowing aught of Nyssia. No person save one 
solitary being, who from the time of' that 
encounter had kept his lips firmly closed upon 
the subject, and that was Gyges, chief of the 
guards of King Candaules. One day, Gyges had 
been wandering among the Bactrian Hills, 
whither his master had sent him upon an impor- 
tant and secret mission ; he was dreaming of the 
intoxication of omnipotence, of treading upon 
purple with sandals of gold, of placing the diadem 
upon the brows of the fairest of women. A bevy 
of young girls who had been gathering flowers 
in the meadow, were returning to the city, each 
carrying her perfumed harvest in the lap of her 
tunic. Seeing a stranger on horseback, they had 
hidden their faces in their mantles, after the cus- 
tom of the barbarians: but at the very moment 
that Gyges was passing the one whose proud car- 
riage and richer habiliments seemed to designate 
her the mistres? of the little band, a gust of wind 
carried away the veil of the fair unknown, whirl- 
ing it through the air like a feather. It was 
Nyssia, daughter of Megabazus, who found her- 
self thus with face unveiled in the presence of an 
humble captain of King Candaules’s guard. 
Gyges was stricken motionless at the sight of that 
Medusa of beauty ; and not till long after the 
folds of Nyssia’s robe had disappeared beyond 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 165 

the gates of the city could he think of proceeding 
on his way. 

That image, although seen only in the glimpse 
of a moment, had engraved itself upon his heart. 
He had endeavored vainly to efface it ; for the 
love which he felt for Nyssia inspired him with a 
secret terror. 

The herald approached with palm-branches in 
his hands, to announce the arrival of the nuptial 
cortege , the strong men elbowed their way to- 
ward the front ranks ; the agile boys, embracing 
the shafts of the columns, s(fLight to climb up to 
the capitals and there seat themselves ; others 
succeeded in perching themselves comfortably 
enough in the Y of some tree-branch ; the women 
lifted their little children upon their shoulders. 
Those who had the good fortune do dwell on the 
street along which Candaules and Nyssia were 
about to pass, leaned over from the summit of 
their roofs. 

The heavy-armed warriors, with cuirasses of 
bull’s-hide covered with overlapping plates of 
metal, rode behind a line of trumpeters who blew 
with might and main upon their long tubes. At 
the head of this troop rode Gyges, the well-named, 
for his name in the Lydian tongue signifies 

beautiful.” 

After the battalion, commanded by Gyges, came 
young boys, crowned with myrtle-wreaths, sing- 
ing epithalamic hymns, after the Lydian manner, 


i66 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


accompanying themselves upon lyres of ivoiy. 
They preceded the gift-bfearers — strong slaves, 
whose half-nude bodies exposed to view such 
interlacements of muscle as the stoutest athletes 
might have envied. Ethiopians — whose bodies 
shone like jet, and whose temples were tightly 
bound with cords, lest they should burst the veins 
of their foreheads in the effort to uphold their 
burden — carried, in great pomp, a colossal statue 
of Hercules, the ancestor of Candaules, wrought 
of ivory and gold. Camels and dromedaries, 
splendidly caparisoneH, with musicians, seated on 
their necks, carried the gilded stakes, the cords, 
and the material of the tent designed for the use 
of the queen during voyages and hunting-parties. 

At last Candaules appeared, riding in a chariot 
drawn by four horses, as beautiful and spirited as 
those of the sun. Candaules was a young man 
full of vigor, and well worthy of his Herculean 
origin. His head was joined to his shoulders by 
a neck massive as a bull’s ; his hair, black and 
lustrous, twisted itself into rebellious little curls, 
here and there concealing the circlet of his 
diadem ; his ears, small and upright, were of a 
ruddy hue , his forehead was broad and full 
though a little low, like all antique foreheads ; 
his eyes, full of gentle melancholy, his oval 
cheeks, his chin, with its regular curves, his 
mouth, with its slightly parted lips — all bespoke 
the nature of the poet rather than that of the 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


167 


warrior. He preferred building palaces, after 
plans suggested by himself to the architects, who 
always found^the king’s hints of no small value ; 
or to form collections of statues and paintings by 
artists of the elder and later schools. It is even 
said that Candaules had not disdained to wield, 
with his own royal hands, the chisel of the 
sculptor and the sponge of the encaustic painter. 

Nyssia, the daughter of Megabazus, was 
mounted upon an elephant. His tusks and his, 
trunk were encircled with silver rings, and around 
the pillars of his limbs were entwined necklaces 
of enormous pearls. Upon his. back, which was 
covered with a magnificent Persian carpet of 
striped pattern, stood a sort of estrade, overlaid 
with gold, finely chased, and constellated with 
onyx stones, carnelians, chrysolites, lapis lazuli, 
and girasols ; upon this sat the young queen, so 
covered with precious stones as to dazzle the 
eyes of the beholders. She was clad in a robe 
embroidered by Syrian workmen,, with shining 
designs of golden foliage and diamond-fruits, and 
over this she wore the short tunic of Persepolis, 
which hardly descended to the knee. But, alas ! 
a saffron-covered flainmeum pitilessly masked the 
face of Nyssia. 

Candaules had vainly begged of her to lay 
aside her veil; even for that solemn occasion. 
The barbarian maiden had refused to pay the 
welcome of her beauty to his people. Great was 


i68 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


the disappointment, and Gyges sighed when he 
beheld Nyssia, after having made her elephant 
kneel down, descend upon the inclined heads of 
Damascus slaves, as upon a living ladder, to the 
threshold of the royal dwelling. 

Nyssia was really far superior to her reputation 
for beauty, great as it was. Candaules had not 
even suspected the existence of such perfection. 
Privileged as a husband to enjoy fully the con- 
templation of her beauty, he found himself daz- 
zled, giddy, like one who fixes his eyes upon the 
sun ; he felt himself seized with the delirium of 
possession, like a priest drunk with the god who 
fills and moves him. His happiness transformed 
itself into ecstasy and his love into madness. At 
times, his very felicity terrified him. He felt as 
if it were a shame thus to hoard up for himself 
alone so rich a treasure — to steal this marvel 
from the world. 

Candaules’s felicity was too great for him, and 
the strength which he would doubtless have 
found at his command in time of misfortune was 
wanting to him in time of happiness. In exas- 
peration of his enthusiasm for Nyssia, he had 
reached the point of desiring that she were less 
modest, for it cost him no little effort to retain in 
his own breast the secret of such wondrous 
beauty. 

“Ah,” he would murmur to himself, “how 
strange a lot is mine ! I am wretched because of 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 169 

that which would make any other husband 
happy. Nyssia will not leave the shadow of the 
gynceceiim, and refuses, with barbarian modesty, 
to lift her veil in the presence of any other than 
myself. Alas! to think that such beauty is not 
immortal, and that years will alter those divine 
outlines — that poem whose strophes are contours, 
and which no one in the world has ever read or 
may ever read save myself. If I knew even, by 
imitating the play of light and shadow, with the 
aid of lines and colors, how to fix upon wood a 
reflection of that celestial face — if marble were 
not rebellious to my chisel — how well would I 
fashion, in the purest vein of Paros or Pentelicus, 
an image of that charming body. And long 
after, when deep below the slime of deluges and 
the dust of ruined cities, the men of future ages 
should find a fragment of that petrified shadow 
of Nyssia, they would cry : ‘ Bediold, how the 
women of this vanished world were formed ! ’ 
And they would erect a temple wherein to en- 
shrine the divine fragment. Soh adorer of an 
unknown divinity, I possess no power to spread 
her worship through the world 1 ” 

Thus in Candaules had the ent'.’iusiasm of the 
artist extinguished the jealousy ol the lover. If, 
in place of Nyssia, daughter of thi Satrap Mega- 
bazus, all imbued with Oriental ideas, he had es- 
poused some Greek girl from Athons or Corinth, 
he would certainly have invited to his court the 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


170 

most skilful painters and sculptors, and have 
given them the queen for their model. Such a 
whim would have encountered no opposition from 
a woman of the land where even the most chaste 
made a boast of having contributed — some for 
the back, some for the bosom — to the perfection 
of a famous statue. But hardly would the bash- 
ful Nyssia consent to unveil herself in the dis- 
creet shadow of the thalamus, and the earnest 
prayers of the king shocked her rather than gave 
her pleasure. 

The sentiment of duty and obedience alone in- 
duced her to yield at times to what slie styled 
the whims of Candaules. Sometimes he besought 
her to allow, her hair to flow over her shoulders 
in a river of gold richer than the Pacloius; to 
encircle her brow with a crown of ivy and linden- 
leaves, like a bacchante of Mount Msenalus ; to 
lie, hardly veiled by a cloud of tissue finer than 
woven wind, upon a tiger-skin, with silver claws 
and ruby eyes ; or to stand erect in a great shell 
of mother-of-pearl, with a dew of pearls falling 
from her tresses in lieu of drops of sea-water. 
When he had placed himself in the best position 
for observation, he became absorbed in silent 
contemplation ; his hand, tracing vague contours 
in the air, seemed to be sketching the outlines 
for some picture ; and he would have remained 
thus for whole hours, if Nyssia, soon becoming 
weary of her role of model, had not reminded 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


171 

him, in chill and disdainful tones, that such 
amusements were unworthy of royal majesty and 
contrary to the holy laws of matrimony. “It is 
thus,” she would exclaim, as she withdrew, draped 
to her very eyes, into the most mysterious re-' 
cesses of her apartment, “ that one treats a 
mistress — not a virtuous woman of noble blood ! ” 

These wise remonstrances did not cure Can- 
daules, whose passion augmented in inverse ratio 
to the coldness shown him by the queen. And 
it had at last brought him to that point that he 
could no longer keep the chaste secrets of his 
beautiful bride. A confidant became necessary 
to him. He did not fix his choice upon some 
crabbed philosopher of frowning mien, but Gyges, 
whose reputation for gallantry caused him to be 
regarded as a connoisseur in regard to women. 

One evening he laid his hand upon his shoul- 
der, in a more than ordinarily familiar and cordial 
manner, and, after giving him a look of peculiar 
significance, he suddenly strode away from the 
group of courtiers, saying in a loud voice : 
“Gyges, come and give me your opinion in re- 
gard to my effigy, which the Sicyon sculptors 
have just finished chiseling on the genealogical 
bas-relief where the deeds of my ancestors are 
celebrated. . 

Candaules and his favorite traversed several 
halls and finally arrived at a remote portion of 
the ancient palace. This portion of the palace 


172 


AN OLD-T.IME EPISODE. 


formed a sort of court, surrounded by a portico. 
In the midst thereof sat Hercules upon a throne, 
with the upper part of his body uncovered and 
his feet resting upon a stool, according to the rite 
for the representation of divine personages. On 
the right of the throne were Alcaeus, son of the 
hero and of Oinphale ; Ninus, Belus, Argon, the 
earlier kings of the dynasty of the Heracleidae ; 
then all the line of intermediate kings, termina- 
ting with Ardys, Alyattes, Meles — or Myrsus — 
father of Candaules, and finally Candaules himself. 
By a singular chance, the statue of Candaules 
occupied the last available place at the right hand 
of Hercules — the dynastic circle was closed. 

Candaules, whose arm still rested on the shoul- 
der of Gyges, walked slowly round the portico in 
silence. 

“ What would you do, Gyges,” said Candaules, 
at last breaking the silence, “if you were a diver, 
and should bring up from the green bosom of the 
ocean a pearl of incomparable purity and lustre, 
and of worth so vast as to exhaust the richest 
treasures of the earth?” 

“ I would inclose it,” answered Gyges, a little 
surprised at this brusque question, “ in a cedar 
box, overlaid with plates of brass, and I would 
bury it under a detached rock in some desert 
place; and, from time to time, when I should 
feel assured that none could see me, I would go 
thither to contemplate my precious jewel and 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 1 73 

admire the colors of the sky mingling with its 
nacreous tints.” 

“And I,” replied Candaules, his eyes illumi- 
nated with enthusiasm, “ if I possessed so rich a 
gem, I would enshrine it in my diadem, that I » 
might exhibit it freely to the eyes of all men in 
the pure light of the sun.” 

Gyges listened with astonishment to this dis- 
course. The king appeared to be in a state of 
extraordinary excitement. 

“ Well, Gyges,” continued Candaules, without 
appearing to notice the uneasiness of his favorite, 

“ I am that diver. Amid this dark ocean of 
humanity, wherein confusedly move so many 
defective or misshapen human beings, ■ I have 
found beauty, pure, radiant, without spot, with- 
out flaw — a form which no painter or sculptor 
has ever been able to translate upon canvas or 
into marble — I have found N3^ssia!” 

“ Although the queen has the timid modesty 
of the women of the Orient, and no man, save 
her husband, has ever beheld her features, fame, 
hundred-tongued and hundred-eared, has cele- 
brated her praise throughout the world,” answer- 
ed Gyges, respectfully inclining his head. 

“Mere vague^ insignificant rumors. They say 
of her, as of all women not actually ugly, that 
she is more beautiful than Aphrodite or Helen; 
but no person could form even the most remote 
idea of such perfection. In vain have I besought 


174 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


Nyssia to appear unveiled at some public festival 
or to show herself for an instant leaning over the 
royal terrace. She would never consent to that. 
Now, there is one strange thing, which I blush to 
acknowledge even to you, dear Gyges : formerly 
I was jealous ; I wished to conceal my amours 
from all eyes — no shadow was thick enough, no 
mystery sufficiently impenetrable. Now I have 
the feelings neither of a lover nor a husband ; 
my love has melted in adoration, like thin wax in 
a fiery brazier. All petty feelings of jealousy or 
possession have vanished. No ; I wish that some 
friendly eye could share my happiness, and, like 
a severe judge to whom a picture is shown, 
recognize after careful examination that it is 
irreproachable. Yes, often do I feel myself 
tempted to tear off with rash hand those odious 
veils; but Nyssia, in her fierce modesty, would 
never forgive me. And still I cannot alone 
endure such felicity; I must have a confidant for 
my ecstasies — and it shall be none other than 
you ! ” 

Having uttered these words, Candaules brusque- 
ly turned and disappeared through a secret 
passage. Gyges, left thus alone, could not but 
notice the peculiar concourse of events which 
seemed to place him always in Nyssia’s path. A 
chance had enabled him to behold her beauty ; 
among many princes and satraps she had chosen 
to espouse Candaules, the very king he served ; 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 175 

and through some strange caprice, which he 
could regard only as fateful, this king had just 
made him, Gyges, his confidant in regard to the 
mysterious creature whom none else had ap- 
proached, and absolutely sought to complete the' 
work of Boreas on the plain of Bactria ! 

******** 

On the following day, Candaules again took 
Gyges aside and continued the conversation 
begun under the portico of the Heracleidae. 
Having freed himself from the embarrassment of 
broaching the subject, he freely unbosomed him- 
self to his confidant. Gyges listened to all these 
bursts of praise with the slightly constrained air 
of one who is yet uncertain whether his inter- 
locutor is not feigning an enthusiasm more ardent 
than he actually feels, in order to provoke a con- 
fidence naturally cautious to utter itself. 

Candaules at last said to him, in a tone of dis- 
appointment: “I see, Gyges, that you do not 
believe me ; you think I am boasting, or have 
allowed myself to be fascinated, like some clumsy 
laborer, by a robust country girl on whose cheeks 
Hygeia has crushed the gross hues of health. 
No! by all the* gods! I have collected within 
my home, like a living bouquet, the fairest 
flowers of Asia and of Greece. I know all that 
the art of sculptors and painters has produced. 
Linus, Orpheus, Homer, have taught me har- 
mony and rhythm. I do not look about me with 


176 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


love’s bandage blindfolding my eyes. I judge of 
all things coolly. The passions of youth never 
influence my admiration, and when I am withered, 
decrepit, wrinkled, my opinion will be still the 
same. But I forgive your incredulity and want 
of sympathy. In order to understand me fully, 
it is necessary that you should see Nyssia in the 
radiant brilliancy of her shining whiteness — free 
from jealous drapery — even, as nature with her 
own hands molded her. This evening I will liide 
you in a corner of the bridal-chamber — you shall 
see her ! ” 

“ Sire ! what do you ask of me? ” returned the 
young warrior, with respectful firmness: “how 
shall I, from the depths of my dust, dare to raise 
my eyes to this sun of perfections, at the risk of 
remaining blind for the rest of my life. Have 
pity on your humble slave, and do not compel 
him to an action so contrary to the maxims of 
virtue — no man should look upon what does not 
belong to him.” 

“Listen, Gyges,” returned Candaules ; ‘‘fear 
nothing. I pledge my royal word that no evil 
shall befall you. I shall hide you in such a way 
that Nyssia will never know she has been seen 
by any one except her royal husband.” 

Being unable to offer any further defence, 
Gyges made a sign of submission to the king’s 
will. He had made all the resistance in his power. 

“ Come, Gyges,” said Candaules, taking him by 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE, 177 

the hand, “ let us make profit of the time. Nys- 
sia is walking in the garden with her women ; let 
us look at the place, and plan our stratagem for 
this evening.” 

The king took his confident by the hand and 
led him along the winding ways which conducted 
to the nuptial apartment,, and, bidding Gyges 
■place himself against the wall, turned back one of 
the folding doors upon him in such a way as to 
hide him completely; yet the door did not fit so 
perfectly to its frame of oaken beams that the 
young warrior could not obtain a distinct view of 
the chamber interior. 

Facing the entrance, the royal bed stood upon 
an estrade of several steps. Along the walls, at 
regular intervals, stood tall statues of black 
basalt An the constrained attitudes of Egyptian 
art, each sustaining in its hand a bronze torch 
into which a splinter of resinous wood had been 
fitted. An onyx lamp, suspended by a chain of 
silver, hung from the ceiling. Near by stood an 
arm-chair, inlaid with silver and ivory, upon 
which Nyssia hung her garments. 

“ I am generally the first to retire,” observed 
Candaules, and I always leave this door open as 
it is now ; Nyssia, who invariably has some 
tapestry flower to finish, or some order to give 
her women, usually delays a little in joining me ; 
but at last she comes, and slowly takes off — one 
by one, as though the effort cost her dearly — and 


178 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


lays upon that ivory chair all those draperies and 
tunics which by day envelope her like mummy- 
bandages. From your hiding-place you will be 
able to follow all her graceful movements, admire 
her unrivalled charms, and judge for yourself 
whether Candaules be a young fool, prone to vain 
boasting, or whether he does not really possess 
the richest pearl of beauty that ever adorned a 
diadem.” 

“ Oh, king, I can well believe your words with- 
out such proof as this,” replied Gyges. 

“When she has laid aside her garments,” con- 
tinued Candaules, without heeding the exclama- 
tion of his confidant, “ she will come to lie down. 
You must take advantage of the moment to steal 
away, for in passing from the chair to the bed she 
turns her back to the door. The vestibule is all 
in darkness, and the feeble rays of the only lamp 
which remains burning do not penetrate beyond 
the threshold of the chamber. Nyssia cannot 
possibly see you, and to-morrow there will be 
some one in the world who can comprehend my 
ecstasies. But see, the , day is almost spent; re- 
turn to your hiding-place, Gyges, and though the 
hours of waiting may seem long, I swear by Eros 
of the Golden Arrows that you will not regret 
having waited.*' 

After this assurance, Candaules left G3'ges 
again hidden behind the door. The hour ap- 
proached, and Gyges felt his heart beat faster, 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


179 


and the pulsation of his arteries quicken. He 
even felt a strong impulse to steal away before 
the arrival of the queen, and, after averring sub- 
sequently to Candaules that he^ had remained, 
abandon himself confidently to the most extrav- 
agant eulogiums. He felt a strong repugnance 
to obey the' royal command. The husbands 
complicity rendered this theft more odious, in a 
certain sense, and he would have preferred to 
owe to any other circumstances the happiness of 
beholding the marvel of Asia in her nocturnal 
toilet. 

In the midst of these reflections, Candaules 
entered the chamber and exclaimed, in a low 
voice, as he passed the door : “ Patience, my poor 
Gyges, Nyasia will soon come.” 

When he saw that he could no longer retreat, 
Gyges forgot every other consideration and no 
longer thought of aught save the happiness of 
feasting his eyes upon the charming spectacle 
which Candaules was about to offer him. One 
cannot demand from a captain of twenty-five the 
austerity of a hoary philosopher. 

At last, a low whispering of raiment, sweeping 
and trailing over marble, announced the approach 
of the queen. With a step as cadenced and 
rhythmic as an ode. she crossed the threshold of 
the thalamus, and the wind of her veil, with its 
floating folds, almost touched the burning cheek 
of Gyges, 


l80 AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 

Nyssia advanced to the ivory chair and com- 
menced to detach the golden pins which fast- 
ened her veil upon her head, and Gyges, from 
the depths of the shadow-filled angle where he 
stood concealed, could examine, at his ease, the 
proud and charming face, of which he had before 
obtained only a hurried glimpse ; that rounded 
neck, at once delicate and powerful, whereon 
Aphrodite had traced, with the nail of her little 
finger, those three faint lines, which are still 
known as the “ necklace of Venus that white 
nape, on whose alabaster surface little wild rebel- 
lious curls were disporting and entwining them- 
selves: those silver shoulders, half-rising from 
the opening of the chlamys, like the moon’s disk 
emerging from an opaque cloud. Candaules, 
half-reclining upon his cushions, gazed with fond- 
ness upon his wife, and thought to himself : 
“ Now, Gyges, who is so cold, so difficult to 
please, and so sceptical, must be already half-con- 
vinced.” 

Opening a little coffer, the queen freed her 
beautiful arms from the weight of the bracelets 
and jewelry. Then with the movement of a dove 
trembling in the snow of its feathers, she shook 
her hair, which being no longer held by the 
golden pins, rolled down in languid spirals like 
hyacinth flowers over her back and bosom — thus 
she remained for a few moments before reassem- 
bling the scattered curls and finally reuniting 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. l8l 

them into one mass. Having thus arranged her 
coiffure, she seated herself upon the edge of the 
ivory foot-stool and commenced to untie the lit- 
tle bands which fastened her buskms. 

Gyges, lost in contemplation, though all the 
while fully comprehending the madness of Can- 
daules, said to himself that had the gods be- 
stowed such a treasure upon him he would have 
known how to keep it to himself. 

Nyssia detatched the cameo which fastened 
the peplum upon her shoulder — there remained 
only the tunic to let fall. Gyges, behind the 
door, felt his heart beat so violently that he 
feared it must rnake itself heard in the chamber — 
and when Nyssia, with a movement of careless 
grace, unfastened the girdle of her tunic, he 
thought his knees would give way beneath him. 
Nyssia — was it an instinctive presentiment, or was 
her skin, virginally pure from profane looks, so 
delicately magnetic in its susceptibility that it 
could feel the rays of a passionate eye, though 
that eye was invisible? Nyssia hesitated to 
strip herself of that tunic, the last rampart of her 
modesty. Twice or thrice her shoulders, her 
bosom, and bare arms shuddered with a nervous 
chill, as though an insolent lip had dared to touch' 
them in the darkness. 

At last, seeming to nerve herself for a sudden 
resolve, she doffed the tunic in its turn — and the 
white poem of her divine body suddenly ap- 


l82 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


peared in all its splendor. Shuddering with 
pleasure the light glided and gloated over those 
exquisite forms, and covered them with timid 
kisses. 

Candaules smiled in proud satisfaction. With 
a rapid step — as though ashamed of being so 
beautiful — Nyssia approached the bed, her arms 
folded upon her bosom ; but with a sudden 
movement she turned round before taking her 
place upon the couch beside her royal spouse, 
and beheld through the aperture of the door a 
gleaming eye. 

A cry, like that of a fawn who receives an 
arrow in her flank, was on the point of bursting 
from her lips, yet she found strength to control 
herself and lay down beside Candaules, cold as a 
serpent, with the violets of death upon her cheeks 
and lips. Not a muscle of her limbs quivered, 
not a fibre of her body palpitated, and soon her 
slow, regular breathing seemed to indicate that 
Morpheus had distilled his poppy juice Tipon her 
eyelids. 

She had divined and comprehended all. 
*^****** 

The next morning, Candaules caused Gyges to 
be summoned, and conducted him to the court of 
Heracleidae. 

“Well, Gyges,” he said to him, with laughing 
mien, “I did not deceive you when I assured you 
you would not regret having passed a few hours 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


183 


behind that blessed door. Arri I right ? Do you 
know of any living woman more beautiful than 
the queen? If you know of any superior to her, 
tell me so frankly, and go bear her in my name, 
this string of pearls, the symbol, of power.” 

“ Sire,” replied Gyges, in a voice trembling 
with emotion, “ no human creature is worthy to 
compare with Nyssia ; it is not the pearl fillet of 
queens which should adorn her brows, but only 
the starry crown of the immortals.” 

“ I well knew that your ice must melt at last in 
the fires of that sun. Now you can comprehend 
my passion, my delirium. Is it not true, Gyges, 
that the heart of a man is not great enough to 
contain such a love? It must overflow and dif- 
fuse itself.” 

A hot blush overspread the cheeks of Gyges, 
who now but too well comprehended the admira- 
tion of Candaules. The king noticed it and said, 
with a manner half-smiling, half-serious : “ My 
poor friend, do not commit the folly of becoming 
enamored of Nyssia. You would lose your 
pains; it is a statue which I have enabled you to 
see, not a woman. I have allowed you to read 
some stanzas of a beautiful poem, whereof I 
alone possess the manuscript, merely for the pur- 
pose of having your opinion, that is all.” 

“You have no need, sire, to remind me of my 
nothingness. Sometimes the humblest slave is 
visited in his slumbers by some radiant and 


/ 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


184 

lovely vision, with ideal forms, nacreous flesh, 
ambrosial hair. I have dreamed with open eyes 
— you are the god who sent me that dream." 

“Now," continued the king, “it will scarcely 
be necessary for me to enjoin silence upon you. 
If you do not keep a seal upon your lips you 
might learn to your cost that Nyssia is not as 
forgiving as she is beautiful." And the king 
wav;ed his hand in token of farewell to his confi- 
dant, and retired. 

Candaules had scarcely disappeared when a 
woman, wrapped in a long mantle so as to leave 
but one of her eyes exposed, came forth from 
the shadow of a column behind which she had 
kept herself hidden during the conversation, 
walked straight to Gyges, placed her finger upon 
his shoulder, and made a sign to him to follow 
her. 

Followed by Gyges, she paused before a little 
door, of which she raised the latch, by pulling a 
silver ring attached to a leathern strap, and com- 
menced to ascend a stairway, with rather high 
steps, contrived in the thickness of the wall. At 
tht head of the stairway, was a second door, 
which she opened with a key wrought of ivory 
and brass. As soon as Gyges entered, she disap- 
peared without any further explanation in regard 
to what was expected of him. 

The curiosity of Gyges was mingled with un- 
easiness ; he could form no idea as to the signifi- 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


185 

cance of this mysterious message. He had a 
vague fancy that he could recognize in the silent 
messenger one of Nyssia’s women and the way 
by which she had made him follow her, led to the 
queen’s apartments. He asked himself, in terror, 
whether he had been perceived in his hiding-place 
or betrayed by Candaules, for both suppositions 
seemed probable. But the door had been fast- 
ened upon him and all escape was cut off ; then 
he advanced into the chamber, which was shad- 
owed by heavy, purple hangings, and found 
himself face to face with Nyssia. He thought he 
beheld a statue rise before him, such was her pal- 
lor. The hues of life had abandoned her face ; a 
feeble rose-tint alone animated her lips; on her 
tender temples a few almost imperceptible veins 
intercrossed their azure network ; tears had swol- 
len her eyelids, and left shining furrows upon the 
down of her cheeks ; the chrysoprase tints of her 
eyes had lost their intensity. She was even 
more beautiful and touching thus. Sorrow had 
given soul to her marmorean beauty. Her disor- 
dered robe, scarcely fastened to her shoulders, 
left visible her beautiful bare arms, her throat, 
and the commencement of her death-white 
bosom. 

She walked straight to Gyges, and fixing upon 
him an imperial look, clear and commanding: 

Do not lie,” she said to him, in a quick, 
abrupt voice ; “seek no vain subterfuges; have 


1 86 AN OLDtTIME episode. 

at least the dignity and courage of your crime; I 
know all. I saw you ! Not a word of excuse ; 
I would not listen to it. Candaules himself con- 
cealed you behind the door. Is it riot so the 
thing happened ? And you fancy, doubtless, 
that it is all over? Unhappily, I am not a 
Greek woman, pliant to the whims of artists and 
voluptuaries. Nyssia will not serve for any one’s 
toy. There are now two men, one of whom is a 
man too much upon* the earth — he must disap- 
pear from it ! Unless he die, I cannot live. It 
will be either you or Candaules ; I leave you 
master of the choice. Kill him, avenge me, and 
win by that murder both my hand and the 
throne of Lydia, or else shall a prompt death 
henceforth prevent you from beholding, through 
a cowardly complaisance, what you have not the 
right to look upon. He who commanded is 
more culpable than he who only obeyed ; and, 
moreover, should you become rny husband, no 
one will have ever seen me without having the 
right to do so. But make your decision at once, 
for two of those four eyes in which my nudity 
has reflected itself must, before this very evening, 
be forever extinguished.” 

This strange alternative, proposed with a terri- 
ble coolness, with an immutable resolution, so 
utterly surprised Gyges, who was expecting re- 
proaches, menaces, and a violent scene, that he 
remained for several minutes without color and 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 1 8 / 

without voice, livid as a shade on the shores of 
the black rivers of hell. 

“ I ! — to dip my hands in the blood of my 
master! Is it indeed you, O queen, who demand 
of me so great a penalty ? I comprehend all 
your anger, I feel it to be just, and it was not my 
fault that this outrage took place. But you 
know that kings are mighty ; they descend from 
a divine race. Our destinies repose on their 
august knees, and it is not we, feeble mortals, 
who can hesitate at their commands. By your 
feet that I kiss, by the hem of yqur robe, which I 
touch as a suppliant, be clement ! Forget this 
injury, which is known to none, and whicli 
shall remain eternally buried in darkness and 
silence. Candaules worships you, admires you, 
and his fault springs only from an excess of 
love.” 

“ Were you addressing a sphinx of granite in 
^ the arid sands of Egypt, you would have more 
chance of melting her. A heart of brass dwells 
in this marble breast of mine. Die or kill ! 
When the sunbeam which has passed through 
the curtains shall touch the foot of this table, let 
your choice have been made. I wait.” 

And Nyssia crossed her arms upon her breast 
in an attitude replete with sombre majesty. 

“ The shadowy depths of Hades are visited by 
none with pleasure,” answered Gyges ; “each 
man has the instinct of self-preservation ; and. 


i88 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


since blood must flow, let it be rather from the 
veins of another than from mine.’' 

“It is well,” replied Nyssia; “here is the 
means of exesution.” And she drew from her 
bosom a Bactrian poniard. “This blade is not 
made of brass, but with iron difficult to work, 
tempered with flame and water, so that Hephais- 
tos himself could not forge one more keenly 
pointed or finely edged. It would pierce, like 
thin papyrus, metal cuirasses and bucklers of 
dragon’s skin. The time shall be while he slum- 
bers. Let him^sleep and wake no more ! ” 

Her accomplice, Gyges, hearkened to her 
words with stupefaction ; for he had never 
thought he could find such resolution in a 
woman who could not bring herself to lift her veil. 

“ The ambuscade shall be laid in the very same 
place where the infamous one concealed you in 
order to expose me to your gaze. At the ap- 
proach of night I shall turn back one of the^ 
folding-doors upon you, undress myself, lie 
down ; and when he shall be asleep I will give 
you a signal. Above all things, let there be no 
hesitancy, no feebleness ; and take heed that your 
hand tremble not when the moment shall have 
come ! And now, for fear lest you might change 
your mind, I propose to make sure of your per- 
son until the fatal hour — you might attempt to 
escape — to forewarn your master ; do not think 
to do so ! ” 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


189 


Nyssia whistled in a peculiar way, and immedi- 
ately from behind a Persian tapestry, embroid- 
ered with flowers, there appeared four monsters, 
swarthy, clad in robes diagonally striped, which 
left visible arms muscled and gnarled as trunks 
of oaks ; their thick protruding lips, the gold 
rings which they wore through their hpstrils, their 
great teeth, sharp as the fangs of wolves, the 
expression of stupid servility on their faces, 
rendered them hideous to behold. The queen 
pronounced some words in a language unknown 
to Gyges, and the four slaves rushed upon the 
young man, seized him, and carried him away, 
even as a nurse might carry off a child in the folds 
of her robe. Gyges passed the remainder of the 
day there in a state of cruel anxiety ; accusing the 
Hours of being lame, and again of walking too 
speedily. The crime which he was* about to 
commit — although he was yielding only to an 
irresistible influence^— presented itself to his mind 
in the most sombre colors. 

At last night fell upon the city and the palace. 
A light footstep became audible ; a veiled 
woman entered the room, and conducted him 
through the obscure corridors. The hand which 
held that of Gyges was cold, soft, and small; 
nevertheless, those slender fingers clasped it with 
a bruising force, as the fingers of some statue of 
brass animated by prodigy would have done ; 
the rigidity of an inflexible will betrayed itself 


190 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


in that ever-equal pressure as of a vice. Gyges 
— conquered, subjugated, crushed — yielded to 
that imperious traction as though he were borne 
along by the mighty arm of Fate. No word was 
exchanged between the sinister couple on the 
way from the prison to the nuptial chamber. 

The queen placed Gyges beliind the folding- 
door as Candaules had done the evening pre- 
vious. Yesterday, it was the turn of Candaules ; 
to-day, it was that of Nyssia ; and Gyges, accom- 
plice in the injury, was also accomplice in the 
penalty. The daughter of Megabazus seemed to 
feel a savage joy, a ferocious pleasure, in employ- 
ing only the same means chosen by the Lydian 
king, and turning to account for the murder 
those very precautions which had been adopted 
for voluptuous phantasy. 

“You will again this evening see me take off 
these garments, which are so displeasing to Can- 
daules. This spectacle should become wearisome 
to you,” said the queen, in accents of bitter irony, 
as she stood on the threshold of the chamber; 
“you will end by finding me ugly.” And a sar- 
donic, forced laugh momentarily curled her pale 
mouth ; then, regaining her impassible severity of 
mien, she.continued : “Do not imagine you will 
be able to steal away this time, as you did before ; 
you know my sight is piercing. At the slightest 
movement on your part, I shall awake Candaules; 
and you know that it will not be easy for you to 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. I91 

explain what you are doing in the king’s apart- 
ments, behind a door with a poniard in your 
hand. ' Further, my Bactrian slaves — the copper- 
colored mutes who imprisoned you a short time 
ago — guard all the issues of the palace, with 
orders to massacre you should you attempt to go 
out. Therefore, let no vain scruples of fidelity 
cause you to hesitate. Think that I will make 
you King of Sardes, and that I will love you if 
you avenge me. The blood of Candaules will 
be your purple, and his death will make for you a 
place by my side.” 

In a short time Candaules arrived. He seemed 
pleased to find that Nyssia had already retired to 
the nuptial-chamber. 

“ The trade of embroidery, and spindles, and 
needles seems not to have the same attraction for 
you to-day as usual,” said he. 

“ My lord, I felt somewhat tired this evening, 
and so came down-stairs sooner than usual. 
'Would you not like, before going to sleep, to 
drink a cup of blajrk Samian wine mixed with 
the honey of Hymettus ? ” And she poured from 
a golden urn into a cup of the same metal, the 
sombre-colored beverage which she had mingled 
with the soporific juice of the nepenthe. 

Candaules took the cup by both handles and 
drained it to the last drop, but the young Hera- 
cleid had a strong head, and sinldng his elbows 
into the cushions of his couch, he watched Nyssia 


192 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


undressing without any sign that the dust of 
sleep was commencing to gather upon his 
eyes. 

As on the evening before, Nyssia unfastened 
her hair and permitted its rich blonde waves to 
ripple over her shoulders. From his hiding- 
place, Gyges fancied that he saw those locks 
slowly becoming suffused with tawny tints, illu- 
minated with reflections of blood and flame, and 
their heavy curls seemed to lengthen with viper- 
ine undulations, like the hair of Gorgons and 
Medusas. All simple and graceful as that action 
was in itself, it took from the terrible events 
about to transpire a frightful and ominous char- 
acter, which caused the hidden assassin to shud- 
der with horror. 

Nyssia then unfastened her bracelets, but, 
agitated as her hands had been by nervous strain, 
they ill-served her will. She broke the string of 
a bracelet of beads of amber, inlaid with gold, 
which rolled over the floor with a loud noise, 
causing Candaules to reopen his gradually closing 
eyes. Each one of those beads fell upon the 
heart of Gyges as a drop of molten lead falls 
upon water. 

Having unlaced her buskins, the queen threw 
her upper tunic over the back of an ivory chair. 
This drapery, thus arranged, produced upon 
Gyges the effett of those sinister-folding winding 
sheets wherein the dead were wrapped before 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


193 


being borne to the funeral pyre. Every object in 
that room, which had the evening before seemed 
to him one scene of smiling splendor, now ap- 
peared to him livid, dim, and ' menacing. The 
statues of basalt rolled their eyes and smiled 
hideously. The lamp flickered . weirdly, and its 
flame dishevelled itself in red and sanguine rays, 
like the crest of a comet ; far back in the dimly 
lighted corners loomed the monstrous forms^ of 
the Lares and Lemures. The mantles hanging 
from their hooks seemed animated by a factitious 
life, and assumed a human aspect of vitality ; and 
when Nyssia, stripped of her last garment, ap- 
proached the bed, all white and naked as a shade, 
he thought that Death herself had broken the 
diamond fetters wherewith Hercules of old en- 
chained her at the gates of Hell when he de- 
livered Alcestes, and had come in person to take 
possession of Candaules. 

Overcome by the power of the nepenthe-juice, 
the king at last slumbered. Nyssia made a sign 
for Gyges to come forth from his retreat, and lay- 
ing her finger upon the breast of the victim, she 
directed upon'lier accomplice a look so humid, so 
lustrous, that Gyges, maddened and fascinated, 
sprang from his hiding-place like the tiger from 
the summit of the rock where it has been crouch- 
ing, traversed the chamber at a bound, and 
plunged the Bactrian poniard to the very hilt in 
the heart of the descendant of Hercules. The 


194 


AN OLD-TIME EPISODE. 


chastity of Nyssia was avenged and the dream of 
Gyges accomplished. 

Thus ended the dynasty of the Heracleidae, 
after having endured for five hundred and five 
years, and commenced that of the Mermnades, in 
the person of Gyges, son of Dascylus. 


THE END. 





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